


With All My Faults and Merits

by NightReaderEnigma



Series: An Arranged Marriage that Leads to Love [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And most importantly..., Chastity, Diligence, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Gluttony, Humility, JB Week 2020, Kindness, Lust, Pride, Romance, Seven Deadly Sins, Seven Heavenly Virtues, Soulmates, Temperance, Two hearts find each other in the most unlikely situation, Westeros, canonical age gap, charity - Freeform, envy - Freeform, greed - Freeform, patience - Freeform, sloth - Freeform, wrath - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 40,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26691439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightReaderEnigma/pseuds/NightReaderEnigma
Summary: Jaime Lannister has sinned and he knows it.  His life has been a constant downward spiral ever since.  So when he is forced into a quickly organised arranged marriage, it is just another dream squashed.  But no woman was ever truly going to want and accept him, not with his history...Brienne of Tarth has tried her whole life to be virtuous.  So when her Father makes a match for her which will benefit their people, she knows she must play her part for the greater good.  After all, no man was ever going to truly fall in love with her, not with her face...They have two days until they are wed.Two days to learn about each other, find common ground and make a heaven out of this hell.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: An Arranged Marriage that Leads to Love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960768
Comments: 352
Kudos: 340
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Week 2020





	1. Seven Hells (JAIME PROLOGUE)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and Happy JB Week 2020!!! It is one of my favourite celebrations on the annual calendar! <3
> 
> This year I decided to go down a different track, and instead of writing individual stories, I have woven all the prompts/themes into a single fic. I absolutely love the Sins and Virtues Theme - but I also didn't want to lump all the sins on one and gift all the virtues to the other, LOL. Therefore in each chapter it was my aim to make _both_ of them exhibit or witness some form of the Sin and the Virtue. Making them equal and soulmates. (My inspo for this came from Pride and Prejudice - which one was Lizzie and which Mr Darcy? Or were they both guilty of the same trait just manifested in different ways?) You can tell I've thought about this way too much. XD 
> 
> Then as an added element (because I love a challenge and to drive myself insane in the process, lol), I wanted to try out doing a bit of a 'Midnight Sun' - but with my own twist so I wouldn't get bored. 
> 
> In this story there are both Jaime and Brienne's POVs - which will be released as separate chapters. Sometimes they depict the same scene from the different perspective, other times just the crossover of the pivotal moment. To keep it (hopefully, LOL) interesting, often there are interactions unique to just one POV, hinted at in the other POV by a time jump. Basically - I put on my crazy hat and this is the story that unfolded - but it was fun! 
> 
> For the purposes of this tale I have used Jaime and Brienne's canonical ages and age gap which may be a squick for some readers but I wanted to leave the canon timeline in tact as much as possible. Please feel free to mentally set their ages at your comfort level. :) (I have however aged up Lancel to make him older)
> 
> Oh! And as my final challenge I included as many nods to the original canons (both Book and Show) as I could. This story is all fluff, romance and about soulmates finding each other in the most unlikely of ways. 
> 
> I apologise for any errors, this fic is lengthy and unfortunately I ran out of time and couldn't edit it with my usual process. Updates will be twice a day, all going well - one for each POV in line with the theme of the day.  
> The fic is fully written, so it is just editing and releasing. :) 
> 
> Phew, that was a lot of explaining. :D Once again, Happy Jaime and Brienne Week!

Life was a bitter and funny thing, with all its twists and turns. Jaime could not help but reflect upon the thirty odd years of his existence as he watched the hull slice through the water, sending white waves fanning out across the ocean surface and setting a course for his next chapter of folly. 

During his three decades walking this wretched earth, unpredictability and consequence had held governance, taking control of his path from a young age. Replacing justice and truth, relegating them to fictitious notions and discarded ideals. The ideations of his childhood simply the fantasies of an ambitious, starry-eyed youth who had read too many tales of Knightly valour. 

In the books, heroes were worshipped, motives understood. Accounts believed with right emerging triumphant against adversity. 

The reality of his experience was far bleaker, his reputation tattered, his character assassinated and far from laudable. Jaime hated to think of himself as cynical and jaded, but nevertheless they were the titles he had to wear. 

_At least they are more preferable descriptors than Kingslayer – though all are accurate._

Yes – he had killed his King, that was his crime. Dragging his sword across the throat of the ruler he was sworn to protect. 

Jaime’s very valid justifications were not enough to exonerate him, his story going unheard at trial, silenced by the two people he thought he could rely upon. Instead he was delivered to his fate like a lamb to the slaughter, rendered defenceless, whilst he stared into the stony, biased faces of Eddard Stark and Stannis Baratheon. 

The two lords had formed the heart of his council of judgment – one the very person who had discovered Jaime in the throne room with a dead sovereign, sword dripping blood. Stark had made up his mind about Jaime’s guilt in a sweep of his dull grey eyes. 

The other – Stannis – was a stickler for rules and harsh punishment. It was said he had removed the fingertips of the very smuggler who had saved him and his army from starvation. 

But they were best friend and brother to their new King – and they had Robert’s trust. Whereas Jaime did not. The young lion was an opportunity to cement the new reign and to deter any who would consider committing similar atrocities in the future. Against such conviction, even the imposing spectre of Tywin Lannister was not enough to sway them.

 _Especially when Father did nothing. When he had more ambitious plans in place..._

That was the day Jaime discovered how alone he was in the world. Without ally, comfort or love. Only Tyrion had spoken in his defence, but his little brother had never held any sway with their father or court to begin with. 

In the calculating brain of Tywin Lannister - a little thing like defending his firstborn son was not going to jeopardize the grander scheme. If siding with the monarchy could win the Lions of House Lannister allies, then it would be done. And if that meant making an example of his own child, so be it. 

To be certain – in Lord Tywin’s opinion – Jaime had brought it all upon himself. The once mighty Lannister heir choosing to thwart his Father’s wishes by joining the Kingsguard. 

“If you had abided by me – none of this would have happened.” Those were his sire’s words of comfort when Jaime had begged for intervention, for clemency. 

_But I joined the order for love….or so I thought. No doubt it was love for me at the time, but for her it was power and control. I was just her clueless lackey. Now the love I bore her is gone, but the scars remain – both on my body and my heart._

Cersei. His twin sister. His former lover. 

How she had seduced him, manipulating him to stay at court in King’s Landing, whispering the right words of false adoration in his ear – and likely that of many others. Convincing him to remain at her side and beneath her skirts. Her docile subservient, her puppet. 

Jaime had been blinded by lust and bulging bosoms. Milk white thighs resulting in his Kingsguard White cloak. One night of recklessness, a lifetime of perdition. The sin of incest damning him even in the eyes of the Gods, ensuring they too would not hear his prayers for mercy. 

But Cersei – she was destined for royalty. Ruthless in her pursuit to be Queen. And all her previous professions of love and devotion for her twin brother had fallen silent when he was on trial for the murder of Aerys Targaryen. 

Deep down, Jaime had hoped she would speak for him. Or that the earnest retelling he had confided in his closest family would be believed. If he tried to defend himself with Eddard and Stannis it would only fall upon deaf ears, but surely the voices of many could persuade. 

His twin could vouch for his noble intent, his Father – a greatly respected man – would be able to make them see that in the heat of the moment there was no other course of action for a Knight. Surely, they would explain to the council that he had done it for the greater good. 

“He asked for your head Father.” Jaime had implored Tywin to understand whilst Cersei stood by, uncharacteristically quiet. “He was issuing the order to the pyromancer to destroy the city. ‘Burn them all,’ he was shouting. 'Burn them all.’” 

In hindsight Jaime wondered why he had foolishly believed that knowledge would impact upon the hardened commander. After all, Tywin Lannister was the same man who had lead the devastating Sack of King’s Landing that had ensued that fateful day. Letting his men rape, pillage and plunder when the city opened their gates expecting aid and allies. 

_Surely, Father should have been the one on trial – for ordering the slaughter of innocents, for lying the bodies of two murdered children at the foot of the Throne…_

But no. Jaime was the person who faced the tribunal, left alone and vulnerable, whilst his Father watched on. He and Cersei both deciding to remain tight lipped, never relaying the truth of Jaime’s motivations and heroism. 

“Your sister will be Queen; we do not want Robert choosing another. We must agree with his ruling if we are to maintain a hold of power and influence.” 

And so, Jaime had stood before them all to receive the verdict; belittled, shamed and spat upon. Hoping upon hope that his punishment would only involve stripping him of his position on the Kingsguard. A dishonourable discharge – an indelible blemish on the reputation of a knight, but understandable and tolerable. 

He would shoulder it; he would wear the slurs along with the dirty looks and whispers. After all he did not deny the act itself, nor protest his innocence – Jaime knew he was guilty. But it was his reasons which lightened the load on his chest and made the disdain tolerable. 

_I meant well. I wanted to save them._

Jaime got his initial wish, his shoulders sagging in relief at the leniency of his sentence – but his reprieve had been short-lived. Momentary at best. 

The dismissal from duty was his punishment for oathbreaking, for the crime of regicide he would face far worse. His subsequent penalty had been suggested by the implacable and severe Lord Stannis. Unsmiling and unsympathetic whilst he delivered the horrifying recommendation to the approving nods of the austere Eddard Stark. 

“He that would swing his sword against his sovereign - butchering him in cold blood - should never have the privilege of wielding his sword again. For the murder of King Aerys II, you will pay with the hand that dealt the killing blow.” 

Unconsciously Jaime rubbed his stumped arm beneath the cuff of his sleeve, his scar itching at the memory. How he had screamed when they seized him, laid his wrist upon the block. The swing of Ser Ilyn’s blade lightning fast but brutal. 

Jaime Lannister had been a prodigy, the talk of every Knights' lips during his time serving as a Squire. The best swordsman Westeros had ever seen and dubbed younger than most for valour in the field. 

So, they took it from him. His right hand, his sword hand – his everything. His gut still churned to this day at the knowledge.

_I play my part – but I can neither forgive nor forget._

In the years since, Jaime had alternated between the Westerlands and Court as his Father bid. Learning the ropes and preparing for when he took over as primary Lord. But he was ill received amongst the smallfolk, reviled rather than respected. The title of Kingslayer heard more frequently than both ‘Lord’ and ‘Ser’ combined. 

It was hard to instil reverence when you were a lion less a paw and severely bruised of spirit. If his grandfather was ‘The Toothless Lion’ then Jaime was the ‘Clawless’ and even the strains of the Rains of Castamere called to mind that which he lacked. 

But Cersei reminded him most frequently of all, the mere sight of her turning his saliva to acid against his tongue. 

It had taken his twin a week after the cold-blooded amputation to finally visit his chamber, wrinkling her delicate nose against his dishevelled appearance, and the sheen of sweat upon his brow. The Maester did his best to help stave off infection but still the wound was agony and suffering the pain formed part of his punishment. 

Jaime had been livid at the sight of her. “You did not tell them.” He had growled at her through grit teeth. “You could have spared me, saved me, compelled them to listen.”

“I am to be Queen.” Cersei smiled coolly, proudly. “Defending you could have come at the cost of my crown – an unacceptable price. I never told you to kill the King, I would never have instructed such stupidity. It jeopardised my position, my goals. Fortunately, I was able to distance myself from you before you dragged me down. You made your bed sweet brother – now you lie in it.”

“You never loved me; you don’t love anyone but yourself…” Jaime had sneered as perspiration continued to dot his flesh and he hugged his bandaged wrist against his chest. “… I can only think you incapable, no one could ever cause someone they cared about this much pain. No decent, caring human being could ever think solely about their own advancement and consider it a worthier cause than saving a population of innocents. Once, I would have given my life to defend you if the roles were reversed, but no more. Never again. We are through. Brother and sister in name only. I will keep up appearances Cersei, but we are done.” 

Her only reaction had been to blink, her lack of emotion only serving to prove his suspicions correct. “Very well brother.” She clasped her hands in front of her impassively, her smirk cutting. “I did not want a cripple in my bed anyway.” 

As fate would have it – Cersei’s precious crown never sat securely, her marriage to Robert plagued with distrust and infidelity from the onset. Upon their wedding night, Robert had ingested a great deal of alcohol, the majority plied to him by the conniving bride at his side - but he was not so inebriated as to be duped. It had taken much placating and rationalising from Tywin Lannister to try and pacify Robert’s rage, ensuring the King that despite his misgivings Cersei was indeed a maiden to his bed. 

Robert’s drunkenness was blamed for his confusion, Cersei’s horse-riding used as way of explanation. Jaime knew better but took the high road, choosing not to repay his twin’s callousness in kind. He kept the truth to himself, electing instead to revel in the sense of satisfaction that his sister could never rest easily within her relationship. 

Little did he know, this kindness would backfire as well. 

During his time in King’s Landing, Jaime bore witness to many of Cersei’s extra-marital affairs, always shaking his head in disgust but keeping quiet. Sometimes, he and Tyrion cross-referenced, sharing information and disapproval in kind. 

But nothing could have prepared him for the knowledge that she was trifling with their cousin, a decade her junior and Robert's own Squire. Their sordid, drawn-out affair had allegedly been going on for several years, their tracks covered with great success – until they weren't. 

Then the rumours began, the accusations, the finger-pointing. They didn’t have an identity for the Queen’s lover – or at least, not yet. But it was speculated she was dabbling in incest – the perfect crime. A paramour within her own family would be beyond immediate suspicion, provide opportunity for them to carry out their illicit acts. 

The astute tattlers noted that all three of Cersei’s children were born blonde. An uncanny coincidence considering Robert was raven-haired, the Baratheon line predominantly dark featured. It was hearsay of course, but the consequences would be terrifying if it was ever evidenced. 

“Do you think they were all fathered by Lancel?” Jaime had asked Tyrion one night. 

“I don’t doubt it.” His younger brother had sipped his wine. “If Robert ever finds proof, it will be the executioner’s block for all five of them. And mark my words – he’s looking.” 

“My nephews and niece don’t deserve that.” Jaime has shaken his head sadly. “They should not pay for their mother’s carelessness. Let’s hope no one ever substantiates it.” 

But in a cruel twist, it was not Lancel who came under scrutiny but Jaime himself. He supposed he and his cousin did bear a resemblance, but all Lannister family members shared similar features. 

Though Lancel was protected by his overt interest in the Faith of the Seven, considered a pious and religious man. The gossip mongers never drew the link between his holiness and his propensity for sin. 

However, Jaime was a known wrongdoer. And in their malicious minds it wasn’t a leap of logic to imagine that he was guilty of cuckholding the King. 

_So now they take my freedom…_

Tywin Lannister had been quick to find a solution which neatly solved all their problems. For years one of his foremost goals had been to secure his son a suitable match and ensure the continuation of his lineage, an aspiration repetitively vetoed by Jaime. The concept of an arranged marriage had always felt akin to prison to the Golden Lion. 

It was not that he did not desire the company of a good woman at his side – the prospect of having a family truly grew by the season in its appeal, loneliness adding to the burdens of his fractured soul. But after his ordeal with Cersei he craved genuine emotion, a bond which was sincere and real. 

The concept of a clinical match, made for power or convenience was so far removed from his heart’s desire that it depressed him. He would rather the dream of something more and the freedom to consider it still a possibility dangling just beyond his reach, than have another door slammed in his face by being shackled in a loveless union. 

In this instance, his abysmal reputation served him well, deterring potential partners and prompting a multitude of refusals. Jaime was tainted, rotten fruit and the noble sires were well aware that corruption is often catching. Any proud Lord worth his salt was not willing to condemn his daughter to a life with the shameful Kingslayer; a man less a sword hand and scant of honour. 

Eventually Tywin fell silent on the topic, but Jaime was wise enough to know that his Father would never give up the ghost that easily. Often, he spied ravens coming and going whenever a new Lady came of age, perceived the affronted crease appear in the centre of Tywin’s proud forehead as he balled the reply in rage and fed it to the hungry fire. 

And so, Jaime had been emancipated from this one duty, revelling in his last fantasy of ‘what could be.’ Picturing a happy ending with little cubs and a woman he loved. Though in the nether regions of his conscience a malevolent force whispered the truths that he refused to consciously concede, lest it extinguish his last flicker of optimism. 

_You are unlovable, no woman will ever want you and it is only a matter of time before another snare closes around you._

Sure as night follows day – it had. The trap snapping shut with lightning fast precision, biting deep and catching him unawares. His betrothal had not only been brokered by his Father but sanctioned by the King himself, putting an end to the rumours of incest, his hopes of contentment and personal freedom in a single fell swoop. 

_In the next few days, I will be wed._

Jaime set his jaw, squinting and frowning at the tiny island appearing in the distance. 

_Who would have thought such a locale would be tantamount to my version of the Seven Hells?_


	2. Seven Hells (BRIENNE PROLOGUE)

_I am in the Seven Hells._

Brienne scowled at the ships dotting the horizon. _This is really happening..._

“Father please, one last time I beseech you – can we not find a way out of this…” She turned to him upon the parapets, blue eyes wider than the skies above, large mouth drooping downwards in misery. “…the Kingslayer is a monster, the worst of men.” 

Lord Selwyn sighed deeply, leaning against the stone rampart. “The match has been signed off by the King himself, it cannot be undone without causing great offence.” Her Father studied the distress in her face, his mien emanating sadness and sympathy. 

“When I wrote to Lord Renly requesting his aid in brokering a profitable marriage contract for you, I never could have anticipated this particular eventuation. We knew and discussed beforehand Brienne how your matrimony to a wealthier lineage was the surest way to assist our people, how your agreement itself was selfless and noble, showing a maturity beyond your sixteen namedays. But we are both guilty of being short-sighted and failing to consider all possible outcomes - an affirmative response from a prestigious House such as the Lannisters never entered our heads. I am sorry daughter…but I am a man of my oaths, and I have given my word of consent.” 

He turned back towards the Straits, watching the bobbing specks with colourful sails shimmering in the distant sunlight. 

“After tales of your stunt with Ser Humfrey spread like a pestilence, I feared none would ever consider you a suitable match again. It was with humility I begged our liege Lord to involve himself, giving testimony to your kind nature and the backing of his personal endorsement in order to overcome the pernicious whispers. I have supported you in your assertions of independence Brienne, only offering your hand as a last resort, when all other avenues had been exhausted - but now the time is nigh for us both to stand tall, sacrificing for our people. You understand the dire state of Tarth’s treasury, how our coastline and finances lie in ruins in the wake of a tempestuous, decade long Summer. Many talk of fleeing to the mainland, their homes and businesses destroyed. Our lineage is long and proud, for years the Evenstars of Tarth have ruled, since the days when we wore a crown upon our heads. Centuries of history cannot be lost because we faltered, our island abandoned because we could not provide for our citizens in times on hardship. Favourable or not, personal preference pales in the face of the extinction of our line. Duty prevails. Do it for your people, for Evenfall - for Tarth.”

“Yes Father.” Brienne nodded solemnly, her jaw taking on a determined set, her lips a firm line. “I will not let you nor our heritage down. I know my responsibilities; you can rely upon me.” 

_Even if the notion of a loveless marriage to a disgraced knight makes the very essence of my being recoil._

Brienne resolved not to voice any further complaints aloud, instead suppressing them within. Herding them into a box she filled with her disappointments and locking it tight. Dignified and resigned. 

_I always longed for the opportunity of Knighthood, to perform heroic deeds and champion those less fortunate. In my imaginings it was always with my sword and shield in hand._

_But I can be my people’s saviour, donning a wedding gown in place of mail. Trading my happiness for their prosperity…_ She swallowed. … _And a_ _bandoning my fanciful dreams of love._


	3. Pride and Humility (JAIME I)

_Nothing could have prepared me._

Jaime set his chiselled features to stone as he approached the pair of nobles who stood before the dais, donning a mask to hide his displeasure. If he were to outwardly manifest his appal it would be noticed instantly, causing both political tension and repercussions. 

His Father walked beside him, the royal family awarded an elevated place of honour to the left, allowing them to spectate the proceedings without being bumped and jostled amidst the throngs. The overcrowded Great Hall teemed with both citizens of Tarth and courtiers, the sea of human bodies parting before him to form an aisle leading to his betrothed. 

The Meeting Ceremony was customary in arranged unions, the obscuring crowd designed to elicit a sense of excitement and eagerness within the future couple. Building hype and anticipation before they set eyes upon each other for the first time. 

But Jaime had spotted his intended straight away when he entered through the double doors, her lank blonde hair and dour expression jutting out above the tide of onlookers, a head and shoulders taller than acceptable height.

_I had heard the Maid was far from comely – but she is in another realm entirely._

The girl who towered before him was a freakish trinity of hulking, muscular and homely. A disconcerting mixture of mannishness and disproportion, unprecedented on a Lady of her young years. She shuffled her feet nervously, alternating between hunching her massive shoulders and pinning them back in some semblance of defiance, glowering at him with tangible distaste. Jaime was thankful he was used to being on the receiving end of such hostility. 

_Scowl all you wish Wench, I feel much the same about being partnered up with you. How lowly have I sunk?_

She was freckles and scorn, piercing him with a pair of blue eyes which could boast as her sole redemptive quality, a slight curl forming on one side of her oversized mouth and nostrils twitching as though even the scent of him repulsed her. 

_That nose looks as if it has been broken more than once – perhaps you gave the last poor fellow the same chilly reception?_

He japed with himself in an attempt to keep his own demeanour genial but Jaime knew there was an echo of accuracy in his jest. Tyrion had told him Brienne of Tarth had broken her previous betrothal with a blunted Morningstar, smashing in the collarbone of an older knight and subsequently frightening off every other suitor on the continent. 

_Enter me – how 'blessed' I am._

In truth the story had only made him chuckle, the rumoured fire in his wife-to-be proving more appealing than deterring. 

_Though that was before I laid eyes on her… good grief. Father what were you thinking? Is this truly the best you could do? Am I really so desperate?_

_I may be crippled with shit for honour but I am a Lion with the highest calibre of breeding. For years they spoke of your golden twins – the most beautiful woman and handsome man in the Seven Kingdoms. Yet you would pollute our line by having me breed with an ugly aurochs? Once we were a pride of lions, now you permit beasts of burden in our den._

He felt his temper begin to flare, the heat in his cheeks needing to be quenched instead of flamed. But Jaime could not help his ire and indignance at the injustice of it all. 

_I am just chattel to them. My Father, Cersei, King Robert. A thing to be controlled and manipulated, an inconvenience who needs squaring away. Once I faltered on my vows – in the name of the greater good - and forevermore, I pay for it. Time and time again I feel the pinch of my crime and the suffocation of my punishment. Now it will join me abed as well. Never again will I rest on my pillow and dream sweetly of a change in my fortune. Instead I will retire to my chamber with a churlish, ugly wife who wants me no more than I want her._

“Jaime.” Lord Tywin cleared his throat, green eyes glaring a warning. Cautioning him to pay attention and remember his role. “May I present Lord Selwyn Tarth, the Evenstar, and his daughter – your soon-to-be wife, Lady Brienne.” 

Jaime forced himself to smile, plastering on a charming grin which rang hollow, bowing exaggeratedly at his future bride. “My Lady.” 

He didn’t think it possible for her frown to intensify and yet she managed it valiantly. Nodding curtly in response, before glancing at her own sire. Lord Selwyn inclined his head in silent encouragement, until she brayed out. “My Lord.” 

_Was that through gritted teeth?_

The Evenstar was flustered, keen to distract from his daughter’s icy greeting. “Lord Tywin, we welcome you to our island abode. It is wonderful to meet in person after the exchange of letters.” The two older men shook hands, then it was Jaime’s turn to become formally acquainted. “And Ser Jaime, soon we shall call each other family.” 

“Indeed.” Keeping his replies short but sweet appeared the best approach in light of his barely concealed aversion to the entire situation, and it would have worked brilliantly had the Evenstar not extended his hand – his right hand. 

His extremity may be long gone but the instinct remained, the habits ingrained in his psyche from a time when he was still complete. Jaime’s brain did not have time to register his own mistake, could only watch in silent horror as his disfigured right arm lifted in response, the abrupt cuff of his sleeve brushing against the elder Lord’s fingers. 

Jaime jerked as though he’d been struck, visibly shrinking back in shame when the Evenstar’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, the older man’s face flushing in embarrassment. Whether the discomfort was on Jaime’s behalf or at his own blunder the lion Lord would never know. 

_We both temporarily forgot – I am not a whole man._

“Well…ah..yes…” Lord Selwyn stammered, dropping his hand and struggling to recover from the slip up. “…splendid to meet under such pleasant circumstances, a wedding is always a joyous affair.” 

The crowd tittered quietly, their ridicule reaching his ears and causing them to burn. Jaime was attune to the sound, each splutter and giggle a knife in his chest, wounding his pride and plummeting his already battered ego. 

The side of his cheek prickled beneath Cersei’s withering stare, Robert’s guffaw rebounding from the rooftops as she whispered mockeries at her twin’s expense behind her hand. Making fun of Jaime was one of the few things the couple bonded over and Cersei’s usually scathing efforts to belittle her ‘handless brother’ had redoubled in her attempt to douse the rumours surrounding her fidelity.

_No doubt Cersei is enjoying this immensely. I am a laughing stock, to be wed to a shambling beast of a woman. It matters little how hard I have tried to rebuild my life and reputation, I will always be the bumbling, Kingslaying cripple – disgraced and shamed. They may as well have taken my cock._

He shoved his stumped arm in the pocket of his doublet, hiding its offensive existence from the audience in the hope they would forget his shortcomings. All the while knowing it was futile. 

His wife-to-be examined his every move, unreadable blue eyes taking in his self-consciousness whilst saying little. 

_Yes Wench, I am maimed. I suppose you find me wanting as a prospective husband. I am older than you, widely disrespected, short a hand and incomplete._

_But if I have to live with your less than pleasing attributes, mayhaps you can live with mine._

Though as the odd trills of high-pitched laughter continued to bounce from the crowd, he felt a stab of pity for the girl. 

_Not ‘the girl,’ she has a name - Brienne of Tarth._

_By all accounts she is formidable, with scrupulous morals, and now she is to be saddled with the likes of me._

He peered at her despondently through downcast eyes, letting her glimpse his unhappiness. His gloomy demeanour which mirrored her own, reminiscent of grey clouds and rainy skies. 

_How accursed are we both to have such an unfortunate match thrust upon us? I know what I did wrong – but you must have been born under an unlucky star._

“My flaws are obvious My Lady, I cannot hide them.” Jaime murmured quietly, speaking solely to her. “There are no men like me – there’s only me, and perhaps for that the world is truly grateful. For the affliction that is the duty of being my bride, I can only apologise.” 

Cruelly for Jaime, the next step in the Meeting Ceremony was the official offering of his hand - a fact which would only draw further attention to his stumped arm and reminders of his oathbreaking past. Sucking in a deep breath he steeled himself, angling his chin and bowing with a flourish, reaching out unconventionally with his left hand, palm upwards. 

“Lady Brienne, I offer you my hand in marriage. If you will have me…”


	4. Pride and Humility (BRIENNE I)

The repugnance was evident in Lord Lannister’s face from the second he clapped eyes on her and despite his flimsy attempt to conceal his disgust from view, Brienne knew better and saw through his veil of deceit. 

Out of her peripheral vision she assessed her Father’s mood, trying to tell whether he could read the same insult behind Ser Jaime’s phony display of amiability, but her good-natured sire appeared oblivious.

Brienne would have sighed only the audible blast of air would cause unease, so instead she bristled and glunched, refusing to let the cocky Lion Lord think he had fooled her. The Maid of Tarth had been subjected to disparaging looks since she was a girl and was well-versed in identifying the tell-tale signs of revulsion. 

_Not to worry, the abhorrence is mutual._

Everything about him made her skin crawl. 

Jaime Lannister was just as outwardly perfect as he was publicly hailed. Handsome and debonair, sporting features sculpted by the fingers of the Gods. Blessed with the best of their generosity when they fashioned his appearance, gifting him every charming physical attribute a man could hope to possess.

 _But it remains on the surface and goes no deeper. A splendid shell to house a blackened soul, pretty wrappings to cover the wickedness within._

As he grew nearer, she could make out the pucker of disfavour on his full lips, the arrogance in his appraising stare. Studying her as though she were a spectacle in a Mummer’s sideshow, less a woman and more a freak. It brought back the worst type of memories, dredging up insecurities which made her tongue thick and knees quiver. The ridicule heaped upon her by supercilious stares and loud taunts more damaging to her than broken bones and split lips had ever been. 

Brienne had suffered pain in her time, both of body and spirit, and the lesson she took away with her was that flesh wounds eventually heal, leaving scars to show how far she’d come and the adversities she had triumphed against. But the gashes in her soul inflicted by cutting remarks and rejection always festered, lingering on without balm or cure. Resurfacing at the most inopportune moments to rob her of confidence and self-esteem. That is what she was experiencing now – a resurgence of the worst variety of inhibition - and she added that resentment to her list of reasons to despise the golden man before her. 

_His beauty only highlights what a beast I am by comparison. Am I to gaze everyday upon a man who grimaces at the sight of his wife? Who takes me to bed in the dark and wishes I were anyone but me. Perfunctory, detached and cold. To go my whole life never experiencing a loving touch…_

Brienne was not the type to indulge in self-pity, but in her lowest moments she could lament the scourge of her existence – being born neither a male to carry on her Father’s name and title, nor a dainty lady who would make a pleasing bride. It was a terrible misfortune, to have both a romantic heart and unattractive packaging, a masculine physique sheltering the sentiments of a woman. With her broad, thick frame and hideous facial arrangement the likelihood of one day stumbling across a Lord or Knight who would embrace her for all that she was seemed more improbable than the Seven Gods themselves descending from the heavens and decrying the unmitigated inequity of this union. 

No man had ever gazed upon her with notions of romance harboured in his chest and even the kindest of courtesies from well-meaning souls like Lord Renly carried pitying undertones. From her earliest interactions with the opposite sex, Brienne had been subjected to harsh realities and given little choice but to accept her fate. 

Ser Ronnet had taught her that she was unlovable, her face too ugly, her speech too encumbered, her height too tall. The rose thrown at her feet a savage symbol of how she would never be wooed like other women. 

Then Ser Humfrey sought to control her, curtail her individuality and imprison her in a cage of conformity – for her character as it naturally occurred had proven entirely unacceptable. After just the briefest moment in Wagstaff's company, she knew intuitively that he would be heavy handed in his discipline, using brutish ways to assert his dominance and ensure she behaved correctly. He already saw her as his property, her disposition requiring correction, the activities which gave her joy intolerable in a woman. 

Brienne could only conclude that in both appearance and personality – she was unsuitable, failing dismally at personifying her title of ‘Lady’ – and that under such unpropitious circumstances she could hardly aspire to ever be regarded with affection by her mate. 

_Besides, I should know better._

Her wish for a love match was girlish and banal for a woman who took pride in being both practical and level headed. Brienne thought she would laugh at herself if only she didn’t find the alternative so devastating. 

_I can accept my fate and conduct myself with honour through the next two days, employ maturity and acceptance from initial meeting to marital altar and beyond. I will make my Father proud and be the beacon of hope for my people…but why Gods, why, of all men did it have to be him? The Kingslayer. The epitome of everything I stand against._

Her withering posture reinforced, straightening from the slouch which hijacked her spine whenever these morose thoughts took hold, willing her jittering feet be still. Pushing back her wide shoulders and exhibiting her bulk in all its daunting glory. 

_Know who I am Kingslayer, I am not a flower whose stem breaks in a gale. I weather storms and stand back up again, proud and tall._

She struggled against the twitch in her upper lip as she met his eyes – odious and green, all conceit and lacking substance - blasting her grievances through her nostrils like the noble horse when it was frustrated but reined in. 

_He dares to connect with my stare and not look away in shame - after all that he is, all that he’s done. If I were so corrupt, I would hang my head and beg everyone I encountered for forgiveness. But really should I be surprised at his audacity? Surely no actions of a character with his vile track record could stun me._

When Lord Tywin began the introductions, her betrothed donned such a falsified smile it made her stomach somersault. The Lion of Lannister dropping into an ingenuine bow before her, hamming it up for all and sundry. “My Lady.” 

_You only further compound your disrespect towards me and confirm everything I’ve heard. I would have been civil if you had been at least slightly authentic._

Brienne gave him a cursory nod, hoping it would suffice. Peering timidly at her Father to see if her reply met with his approval. She knew from the merest raising of the Evenstar’s eyebrow that it didn’t. The tilt of his head prodding her to elaborate. Imbuing her voice with every ounce of the chagrin she felt within, Brienne croaked out. “My Lord.” 

As her Father spoke, smoothing over the awkwardness, the Maid of Tarth mentally tallied her future husband’s crimes. Bemoaning how fate and politics had conspired to degrade and spite her. There were not many people of whom Brienne honestly thought lowly, the list was small as for the better part she preferred not to pass judgment on others. But in the instance of her betrothed, every fibre of her being bristled and repelled. 

Through all her inadequacies, Brienne clung to her moral codes. The strict principles which dictated her deeds and ambitions. She strove to encapsulate the Knightly ideals, to exemplify chivalry, to protect the weak and see that evildoers were answerable for their crimes. These beliefs governed her daily activities and formed her soul’s true creed, but for all her efforts, her gender prevented her from ever earning the honourific. Knighthood was only obtainable to men. 

_Then there are men like Ser Jaime – who have the world handed to them upon a golden platter and choose to shit upon it, defiling the vows other Knight’s would hold in the highest of esteem._

_Of all the partners I could have been cursed with, my husband-to-be is an oathbreaking, murderer. The type of person who would slay the very King he had sworn to protect, cowardly shoving a sword in his spine when his back was turned. To think my face condemns me to this torment…_

The scene unfolding before her played out as though in slow motion, lost in her reverie and casually observing from the sidelines. But her awareness was not so dulled as to miss her Father’s solecism and the humiliation it triggered for her betrothed. 

Brienne’s eyes traced the empty air at the base of Ser Jaime’s sleeve, the absence where his hand ought to have been conspicuous and unmistakable. Within the darkness of the shadowy fabric tunnel, she spied a fleeting glimpse of scarred flesh, before she flicked her gaze upwards to study the raw ignominy in his crimson cheeked complexion. 

_There is the man behind the façade._

She heard her discombobulated Father babble as he tried to sail past the incident, watched Lord Jaime squirm and fight to maintain composure. A series of sniggers could be heard rebounding from the onlookers, temporarily drawing her focus, her hearing trained to home in upon sources of mockery. Though for once it was not at her expense - but Ser Jaime’s.

A thundering jeer erupted from the King, and the golden lion before her hastily stuffed his wrist into his pocket, mortification permeating from his aura along with the desire to hide. 

_I recognise those traits as well; they are all too familiar to me. It is a terrible, humiliating thing to be laughed at._

Unconsciously a surge of empathy welled inside her, the oft taunted girl within feeling a kinship with his plight. Then he dropped an invisible wall, giving her a direct view of the soul within. Behind the swagger and confidence, his disguise adopted then discarded at lightning speed. Peering at her with a pair of haunted emeralds, sorrowful and holding sympathy. 

“My flaws are obvious My Lady, I cannot hide them.” His tenor was low, the revelation hushed, intended for her hearing alone. “There are no men like me – there’s only me, and perhaps for that the world is truly grateful. For the affliction that is the duty of being my bride, I can only apologise.” 

That caught Brienne off guard. His sincerity and open frankness was at stark contrast to the horror she had perceived when he first saw her. Yet, she could not discredit his candour, it was far too genuine. 

Gradually the audience fell silent, countless sets of eyes settling upon where they awkwardly stood by the dais. A hideously mismatched pairing, but the reason all were gathered. 

_The show must go on, the Meeting Ceremony stops for no man or woman._

Before her, Ser Jaime collected himself, rallying and erecting his veneer anew. Dropping into a flawless bow and extending his left hand in place of his hidden stump. Showing a courage and determination which she could only admire. 

“Lady Brienne, I offer you my hand in marriage. If you will have me…?” 

_I must not forget the very reason for his embarrassment was a punishment. He lost his hand for his heinous crime…_

Unbidden her large, dotted hand slipped into his palm, the sheer size of it covering Lord Jaime’s almost entirely. And despite her internal monologue reciting his misdeeds in continuous loops, her voice carried with more surety. Noticeably absent of the pain and reluctance it had held just minutes before. 

“I will. I accept.” 


	5. Envy and Kindness (JAIME II)

For the first time, Brienne of Tarth stood beside him. Large, imposing and unwaveringly sombre, Jaime found her countenance inspiring both fascination and frustration. She seldom – if ever – smiled, but knew her courtesies, politely accepting congratulations and blessings. 

_Why on earth is a girl of her age so serious and stern? She behaves as though life holds no pleasure or promise, an attitude far more suited to a bitter, fallen, ‘has-been’ like me._

_Though maybe she was jolly… until I came along._

It was a troubling thought, that he was responsible not only for destroying his own happiness but that of a young Lady. The notion lingered in the back of his mind as he greeted guest after guest. 

All the traditional engagement festivities and lead-up events pertaining to a Lord of his standing had been crammed into only two days, their schedule packed full in an attempt to rush the wedding forward. Everyone involved in brokering their wedlock were eager to see the deal sealed and complete, or rather, the poor couple involved hastily wedded and bedded. 

_Best not venture to think about that yet, we only met this afternoon and now we are struggling to adjust to each other’s mere proximity._

Several times since the parade of well-wishers had begun, he had turned to the tall woman at his flank, offering her a quick smile. His initial idea had been to try and put her at ease in his company, but it soon morphed into a diversion, a great and impossible quest – to get her to smile at him in return. 

_A game I lost._

Nevertheless, her presence was oddly comforting. Jaime liked knowing there was another who shared his duties, who would be beside him every step of the way. 

_That’s marriage after all, and these activities are designed to prepare us for wedlock. Mayhaps this union will not be so terrible…_

As dignitaries from Tarth, the Westerlands and King’s Landing filed into the dining room for the celebratory banquet, each were required to stop just inside the entrance and offer their best wishes to the betrothed couple. The majority of interactions were brief, stiff and formal, employing bland and overused phrases which required little more than a gracious ‘thank you.’ 

But then there were the exceptions, the lingering conversations which he wished would hurry up and end…

The Lion of Lannister ignored the undercurrent beneath his sister’s stare, a sour intensity at odds with the pleasantries being verbally exchanged. Two writhing pools of verdant wildfire, churning with malice and…

 _Jealousy._ It was enough to spark both indignance and amusement within him. _My twin has somehow been bitten by the green-eyed monster._

The knowledge flabbergasted and astounded – in all the worst ways. How after years of their estrangement she could muster up the nerve to resent his impending matrimony. A call back to a time when she proclaimed, they were ‘two halves of one whole.’ That the golden twins were meant to be together, unified in life as they were in the womb. 

Jaime had long tossed aside the lies and exaggerations of his manipulative twin, her professions losing their shine when he experienced first-hand the limitations of her purported devotion. But the knowledge that within their false-flattery there was indeed the tiniest shred of truth did gift him a rush of glee. 

_Feeling the pinch as I slip my last fetter? Shirking off the flimsiest of strands that still bound me to you. I will belong to another woman now, vow to be hers and take her as mine._

_Look around you Cersei, your husband stands beside you – remember him? The King? The power you just had to have?_

_It was your whoring that made my marriage imminent, adding blemishes to my already tarnished name and casting me in the shadow of suspicion. Where is our cousin tonight Cersei? Was he not invited upon the voyage? Keeping yourselves safe whilst I pay the price for your dalliance?_

_Your malicious signature is branded all over my arranged marriage contract sweet sister, no doubt you leeched some sick sense of delight from binding me to a woman less than comely. But whether or not my future wife despises me, and regardless of the fact that her face could curdle milk - I would rather marry Brienne of Tarth than you, any day of the year._

When Cersei offered her well wishes, her artifice froze Jaime's blood in his veins and he winced as she kissed his cheek, her lips burning his skin like acid, the voice he had once thought sultry sneering against his ear. “That grotesque thing is showing again brother, cover it up before it makes everyone nauseous.”

Glancing down he spied the tip of his stump protruding from his sleeve, and he grabbed at the fabric, yanking it down and cupping his palm around the opening. 

_The fucking tailor, he cut the sleeves too short, I always ask for an extra length of material to ensure it is concealed. I have been tugging at the blasted cuff all night._

Mercifully Robert and Cersei withdrew, taking Tywin with them, and Jaime exhaled. 

His Father had scrutinised every muscle in Jaime’s face during his audience with the King, almost imperceptible ticks at the corners of his mouth and eyes indicating his criticisms and thoughts. 

As the Queen's sire, Lord Tywin’s esteemed position permitted him to join in the private royal chat - as did his role as Father of the Groom. Jaime would have preferred he didn’t.

Whilst getting ready for the festivities, the elder lion had hounded him on protocol and the true reason they were in Tarth.

“Even though you will be the centre of focus tonight, remember - this is not about you Jaime; this is about your sister, her position and her children’s right to the Crown. Clearing Cersei’s name of this scandal and putting an end to the atrocious lies and slander angled against her is top priority. You will be watched – you will be judged. My sources inform me that his Grace has asked both Lord Stark and his brother Stannis to monitor you. They are assessing your reactions for signs of unwillingness to wed, for indications that you and Cersei share an unnatural bond.”

“But we don’t. I assure you.” _However, the same cannot be said for Lancel…_

Tywin shook his head in disapproval. “Not one person in Westeros will take you at your word, not with your chequered history. I warn you son, your performance earlier today was far from satisfactory. Lord Selwyn may have been simple enough to be persuaded by your pretence but I am far wiser.”

“I will strive.” Jaime was aware he had struggled, but already within he could feel a shift in his disposition towards his impending nuptials. A change of heart more in favour with his fate. “Next time you will not have cause for concern.” 

“Hmmmnn.” His Father was unmoved. “Improve your conduct, be convincing, or there may not be a ‘next time.’” With that ominous warning hanging in the air, Lord Tywin had left him to finish dressing. 

Jaime let his posture relax ever so slightly, knowing the hardest part was now behind him. 

_I hope my performance was satisfactory – though I doubt it. No matter how hard I try, I will never be enough to meet the standards of Lord Tywin Lannister. Once he viewed me as his golden son, now he thinks of me as only a disgrace to his family and name._

He pivoted in place towards Brienne, curious to see how she was coping with it all, and was shocked to find a small smile illuminating her face. 

The Evenstar had his hands clapped upon her broad shoulders, his eyes crinkling at the corners and countenance emanating sentimentality. Brienne nodded modestly, dropping her blue eyes to the long rose carpet below – _they are a stunning shade of blue -_ a happy blush staining her cheeks whilst snippets of phrases such as “could not be prouder of you” and “you have been the joy of my life” carried towards Jaime. 

He shifted from foot to foot, knowing that the scene should be heartwarming, yet instead it gave him an envious pang. Yearning to hear the same words of approval from his own sire. 

_I wonder how it feels to be loved by your Father? To have his full backing and support. Even when Father was still pleased with me, never once did he display such affection. No hugs, no kisses, no praise. Just fact and threats, tough love and condescension. Brienne is luckier than she will ever know._

“Jaime!” 

The Lion of Lannister jerked his head around towards the set of open double doors, a gigantic grin erupting uncontrollably across his face. 

_I know that voice…_

“Tyrion!” He enthusiastically dropped to one knee, sweeping up his younger sibling in an embrace, paying no heed to the aghast expressions of the Tarth-born onlookers as he rested his chin upon his little brother’s shoulder. “I wanted you to come, but I didn’t dare to hope.” 

“Father didn’t make it easy.” Tyrion pulled back and shrugged, his mismatched eyes gleaming with the mischief of defiance. “But I wouldn’t miss my brother’s wedding for the world.” 

From across the room Cersei threw them a glare of open hatred, rotating on her heel to complain to their Father about Tyrion’s unplanned presence. The animosity between the Queen and her younger brother was old and deep, a malevolence repeated and mirrored in Lord Tywin. 

_If Father’s treatment of me is cold indifference, he is heinous to Tyrion. Neither he nor Cersei will ever forgive him for the death of Mother or being born a dwarf._

Neither made an ounce of difference to Jaime, he loved Tyrion immensely. His younger brother’s constant champion, his defence of Tyrion had culminated in an irreconcilable rift in the family when he was twenty and his brother only thirteen. 

Tyrion had fallen in love with a crofter’s daughter they rescued from bandits and unbeknownst to everyone the pair married. When Tywin made the discovery, he had been furious, demanding that Jaime lie to his beloved brother and tell him the girl was a paid whore. 

Ordinally the wrath of Tywin Lannister would have swayed even the most courageous of men to do his bidding – but in Jaime’s case he had nothing to lose. So, he told Tyrion the truth of his Father’s plan and all Seven Hells broke loose. 

Since that day, a dividing line was drawn between the Lannister household. Tywin and Cersei united on one side, Tyrion and Jaime upon the other. 

_And that way it shall remain…_

“You’re my guest.” Jaime assured. “With me you will always be welcome.” 

Tyrion chuckled. “And I can see our illustrious Queen feels the same way.” 

“She is having an off-night, seems our dear cousin couldn’t attend.” The lion tutted as he japed, speaking in riddles. _Not that it matters, Brienne is the only person within earshot and she is otherwise engaged with Selwyn._ “Such a shame, Cersei does so enjoy a family affair.”

His brother hooted with laughter. “She does indeed! Is this where I should inform you that I arrived a while ago and have been observing? I lingered by the entrance as I didn’t want to interrupt the heartfelt blessings her Grace was sending your way.” Tyrion rolled his eyes before raising his bushy brows. “Did you detect the same disconcertion from her that I did? Quite palpable really.” 

“Yes – and to think Father gave _me_ the lecture.” Jaime shook his head. 

“It is not surprising; she has always treated you as her property.” 

“Lucky for me then that damaged possessions are not as valuable.” He lifted his right wrist lamely. “You know full well there has been naught between us for the longest time, _any_ connection was severed over a decade ago. There are many things we do not see eye to eye on and one of the most important is you.” 

“Me?” Tyrion held his hand to his chest, feigning innocence. “But I am so sweet and small, how can I possibly cause such upset?” 

“You know full well.” Jaime’s cheeks hurt from grinning, the elation at having his brother there elevating his mood sky high. “And I am going to insist you sit with me.”

“A kind suggestion that would indeed spare me from Father and Cersei’s company, but I do believe custom dictates that the seat next to you shall be occupied by your betrothed.” 

“I have two sides, don’t I? One for my bride-to-be and the other for my beloved brother. It is easily arranged.”

“Don't fuss on my account, I quite enjoy the sport of goading them both - you wouldn't rob me of my entertainment surely?" The golden lion chortled, he had always admired Tyrion's resilience. "But now, let's not waste any more time speaking about them, not when there is a woman off to your side who is of far more interest to me..." His younger brother's gaze flicked to Jaime’s left, his pupils darting up and down as he took in the height of Brienne who was still patiently listening to her Father’s long-winded spiel. “…tell me what you make of her? She will be your wife after all and I knew you would be less than thrilled with the arrangement.” 

“Initially that was true-” Jaime straightened to standing, turning subtly to check that the Maid of Tarth remained preoccupied and wouldn’t overhear. “- and Gods know, nobody stopped to enquire my feelings on the topic. But now that you’ve asked, I will answer. I am always honest with you…”

[][][][][][][][]

When they were informed that the last of the guests had been received, Jaime was beyond relieved. The hour was late to only just be starting dinner, he was hungry and his patience was wearing thin.

_And this infuriating sleeve is not helping, I wish I had brought a sock or cover to at least hide my scar._

Every few minutes he checked that the material had not ridden up again, often despairing to see the red, puckered line of his flesh peeking out. He could always tell it had happened by the stares of those he spoke with, their eyelines dropping and the abject horror displayed on their faces. 

Now, he yanked on the cuff once more, the straining fabric at the shoulder seam proving little deterrent when he was obsessing. 

_If it rips, I have an excuse to go change. To end this humiliating nightmare…_

“May I?” 

Jaime physically jumped, startled from his repetitive, compulsive behaviours by Brienne’s low contralto. He wasn’t used to her being so close, or voluntarily talkative – yet there she was. Standing in front of him, azure eyes contemplative and compassionate. 

He furrowed his brow in confusion, asking not unkindly. “I would say of course My Lady… but I do not know to what you are referring?”

With slightly quaking digits, his betrothed reached for his stump, softly taking the maimed flesh in the palm of her hand. He shuddered involuntarily, pulling it back on instinct. “Lady Brienne it is offensive, I would not subject you to its appearance, let alone to touch…”

But she was not discouraged, her long, strong fingers gripping tightly when he attempted to wrest it from her grasp. Her other hand laying atop his sleeve and smoothing the sumptuous material, chin tucked shyly to her chest, watching her own movements rather than stare directly at him. 

“I-I-” She stopped and started, suddenly tongue-tied, a woman unused to addressing a man in this capacity. Jaime found it quite endearing, entranced as she gulped down the shaky start and began again. “I want you to know that it doesn’t bother me.”

“How can it not?” Jaime angled his head, bewildered. “Every woman who has even glimpsed it by mischance has recoiled…”

“I think it is plain, I am not like most women…Surely that is not a far cry of belief. You told me yourself earlier, that there are no other men like you – can I not have the same applied to me?” 

“Yes.” Jaime breathed; his voice abraded with shock. His dumbfounded brain slowly registering the way she cradled his maimed wrist, her thumb lightly skirting beneath the cuff to glide over his skin. The small act sending frissons of fear, thrill and - most peculiar of all – arousal, coursing through his veins. 

Brienne lifted her gaze abruptly, sapphire spheres glinting with determination, a rigid set in her jaw as she declared. “Then accept that I am different too. And I have come to tell you, that your wrist does not perturb me. Not in sight nor texture.” 

The matter-of-fact way she spoke about his stump made him simultaneously want to laugh and cry. Everyone else he knew danced around the topic, as though it was unmentionable. So awful and taboo that they didn’t even want conversation about it falling off their tongues.

_And no one has ever touched it…_

“Thank you, My Lady…” His tone was suffused with emotion, a man moved to the core of his soul - and when Brienne's eyes widened slightly in acknowledgment, Jaime knew she was aware how much it meant to him. “…You are very kind.”

_My future wife – kind and gentle._

It awakened a dormant region of his heart, heat melting what he thought had turned to stone.

_Gentler with me in that one act than Cersei ever was – even when I was whole._

The glow of the warmth remained, radiating on long after Brienne clammed up again, dropping his arm and balling her skirts in her fists to begin the trek over to the banquet. 


	6. Envy and Kindness (BRIENNE II)

Ser Jaime had been standing to her right for near on an hour now. A prolonged exposure that so far hadn’t resulted in either bloodshed or a barrage of insults. Each time he spun in her direction, Brienne braced herself for impact, expecting an onslaught of wounding words to come hurtling from his mouth. Thus far, all he had done was smile, then turn away again. 

_What is he doing? Is that grin mocking me? Does he think this dress makes me look more of a fright? Has my hair come unpinned again?_

The strands of straw were as stubborn as the rest of her, refusing to be swept neatly into the bun at the nape of her neck. Her gown of forget-me-not blue was simple, forgoing the expected frills and embellishments in favour of practicality and comfort. 

However, the sheer fact that it was a dress instead of breeches and tunic was enough to make her self-conscious.

_Pretty things are a waste on me._

Brienne peered sideways to where the Queen was speaking with Ser Jaime. Brother and sister striking an eerie resemblance, mirror images with the exception of gender. The King and Lord Tywin also watched the exchange between the twins, eyes narrowed in suspicion and mistrust. The two men had all but ignored the Maid of Tarth since they offered their cursory well-wishes, a fact which suited her brilliantly. She detested being gawked at and having to make small-talk, a glib tongue merely another talent which evaded her.

_I have naught which is appealing, but some women have it all…_

She observed with interest as Cersei animatedly expressed her congratulations, a captivating show of tumbling curls, gem-like eyes and perfect smile. Her figure was slim but shapely, bustline bursting from her corset, her resplendent gown fitting like a glove and highlighting her many assets. 

Brienne let the breath she had been holding expel roughly through her nose, glancing downward at her own flat chest and unflattering attire. Since adolescence she had grappled with knowing she was different, markedly sub-par to the other maidens around her. Most of the time she took it in her stride, making the most of her strength and brawn, but that was when she didn’t have a comparison point. 

_I should be above envy; it will do me little good. It cannot change how I appear, but it will make my soul as ugly as the rest of me._

Still, as she observed Jaime (the man she never wanted) being kissed on the cheek by his sister (a sublime example of physical womanhood) the rumours behind the urgency of their matrimony surfaced of their own accord. 

_They say the Lord I am to marry has committed incest and adultery, lain with his twin. Fathered her three children, creating inbred abominations. Another sin upon the soul which is to be bound with mine before the Gods, another transgression I must carry as his future wife._

Again, Brienne raked herself over the coals for indulging hearsay, after her own experience with gossip mongers, she should be wiser. Wagging tongues were synonymous with frequent inaccuracy and malicious intent. 

_But seeing them together, it is difficult to imagine another who could equal him in charm and attractiveness._

Brienne shook her head roughly, attempting to clear the fog which seemed to have invaded her usually collected thoughts. 

“Daughter!” 

Her Father never realised exactly how much his voice boomed, especially when he was jolly. He strode towards her with arms outstretched, two massive hands grasping her by either shoulder. They were tall enough to look each other in the eye and his expression was positively buoyant. 

_He took my willing acceptance of Ser Jaime’s hand this afternoon as a positive sign. His misinterpretation of my happiness with the situation has alleviated his guilt about necessity requiring me to make this supreme sacrifice. And I do not have the heart to correct him, I will not be the person to chase away the sun which has newly dawned in his spirit..._

“My girl – I can’t believe I am to part with you.” Emotion flooded his deep slate eyes and Brienne couldn’t fight the upwards tug at the corners of her mouth. “I always knew you were special, but never could I have dreamed what a capable, kind, strong-minded and selfless woman you would become.” 

She was unused to lavishes of admiration, her Father has always been the strong, silent type. Stoic and reticent, showing his love in gestures rather than expressing it aloud. The heady rush of his approval sent a scalding blush to her cheeks. 

“I could not be prouder of you daughter, since I lost your mother years ago you have been the light of my life. One moment you were a little girl collecting shells upon the seashore and bringing them to me for inspection, the next you were learning to wield a sword and knocking the boys into the dust….” 

Another greeting had piqued her interest, luring her attentiveness away from her Father’s praise. Beyond the Evenstar’s shoulder, Ser Jaime’s grin stretched from ear to ear as he kneeled upon the carpeted floor to bundle a small statured man into his arms. 

The fellow he embraced was diminutive in height compared to the rest of the crowd and a quick imperceptible scan of the surrounding courtiers let Brienne know that they judged him for it. Ladies lifted their hands, muttering to their partners, their demurral inaudible but tangible. The royal family scowled, Cersei’s stunning figures contorting in rancour. 

_That must be Lord Tyrion – and they do not want him here._

The realisation struck Brienne like the blow from a mace connecting with an oaken shield. 

_He is different and that is his trespass. I can relate. Nobility are all too hasty to weigh a person’s worth with their eyes._

_But Lord Jaime…_

Her husband-to-be was the most uninhibited she had seen him since making his acquaintance, emanating an almost contagious elation and affection. The golden lion conversed amiably with the shorter man and she strained to hear their conversation. Hoping to gain an unimpeded insight into the man she was marrying. 

“…with me you will always be welcome.” 

_Jaime loves him. I can tell._

That concept set her heart to beating an at unsteady rhythm. If she didn’t know better, she would describe it as a flutter. 

_To be able to peer past the physical, to love regardless of appearance or the opinions of others. That is a true virtue at odds with all I’ve heard about him. It would mean Ser Jaime possesses a capacity for tremendous kindness._

Lord Tyrion chattered on, undeterred by the reception of the masses. “…I didn’t want to interrupt the heartfelt blessings her Grace was sending your way.” 

_They are speaking of Cersei._

With miniscule, almost imperceptive steps, she shuffled her feet sideways, inching closer to better overhear. She knew it was unethical – both to be eavesdropping upon a private conversation and not giving her Father the proper heed he deserved – but Brienne felt in this instance her need superseded the questionable nature of the act. 

_I need to discover the truth about the man I will lay with, bear children for… and this is the best way to find out if those whispers hold any merit._

To the best of her ability she divided her attention, her smile unyielding as Lord Selwyn continued to recount stories from her youth. Reliving nostalgic memories of times gone by. 

Simultaneously, Brienne attempted to interpret the snippets she caught. 

“Lucky for me then that damaged possessions are not as valuable…” Ser Jaime’s octave dripped with irony as he brandished his stumped arm, prompting Brienne to note once more what a sore point it was for him. A thorn in the side of his self-esteem. 

_He has been fidgeting with his sleeve all night, he is afraid his scar will show and offend._

“…you know full well there has been naught between us for the longest time, _any_ connection was severed over a decade ago.” 

_He puts emphasis on ‘any.’ So, it was true once – he was his sister’s lover. But they would have been young, before she was married and it is left far in the past._

A heaviness lifted off her shoulders, one burden less for a reluctant bride. 

_He will not be straying from my bed to hers. I will not be the obligation and she his passion…._

Brienne blinked slowly, recentring her thoughts. Perplexed by the workings of her mind tonight. 

_The pressure must be affecting me. I am scattered, I am not making sense…I loathe this man._

Tuning back in to her Father’s monologue, Brienne ensured he had not noticed her lapse in concentration. 

_I_ _wouldn’t offend Father for the world. It is just I have so little time before Ser Jaime is my husband, every titbit of information sheds more light upon his infamy, helps me sort fact from fiction._

“…and I want you to know whether your name be Tarth or Lannister, you will always have a place here. We are family – and blood bonds are thicker than water…”

However once again, the conversation taking place beside them roused her interest. 

“…tell me what you make of her? She will be your wife after all and I knew you would be less than thrilled with the arrangement.” 

_Lord Tyrion is enquiring about me._

Keeping her gaze locked on her Father, Brienne donned her emotional armour. Reinforcing the shields which protected her from the damage of harmful words. Her battered and bruised psyche needing impenetrable fortification against the inevitable incoming barbs.

“Initially that was true, and Gods know, nobody stopped to enquire my feelings on the topic. But now that you’ve asked, I will answer. I am always honest with you.” 

“Go on…” From the pitch of his voice, Lord Tyrion was as eager to hear Jaime’s response as she was. 

“When I arrived today, I admit I was taken aback, she is certainly not what most men picture when they are to meet their bride...” 

_There it is, the rejection and scorn I was waiting for. It always comes. This is why I guard myself - if I were weaker I would shed tears and crumble, knowing my husband-to-be is repulsed by me._

“...But I must confess Tyrion that upon reflection in the hours since, I am ashamed of myself. I should know better than to judge a person by their outer package. Cersei is comely but hateful through and through, everyone says I am handsome and look how far that got me. External beauty is shallow, and no real indication of the spirit within. I detest when people mistreat you simply for being born different. You are the person I love most in the world, the only person worth knowing in my opinion…”

His younger brother chuckled. “Please, do stop. My head is fat enough as it is.” 

“It’s true though…about you - and I suspect about her.” Jaime sighed. “I shouldn’t have been so quick to let appearance govern my opinion. Tyrion – she is just a girl, a virtuous young woman with her whole life ahead of her, only to be sold off to a pariah. A publicly disgraced man who is over a decade her senior and comes from a family of vipers.”

“In all earnest though.” Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “After the story about Wagstaff got around – her prospects were hardly stellar.” 

“Breaking the collarbone of one gruff, backwards, old coot is hardly equivalent to slaying a King. It probably did him good…” 

This time the smile upon her face was not caused by her Father’s tale, but rather by what her betrothed had said. 

“…I know everyone thinks my word is worthless but I do have a conscience and subjecting an innocent maiden to a miserable marriage does not sit well with me. So, I avow to make the most of our union, whether she hates me or not. I will endeavour to make Brienne of Tarth happy, to ease the burden of being shackled to me and be the best husband I can be. I owe it to her for agreeing to take me on.” 

“It sounds like you’ve made up your mind then.” 

“My mind – and my heart…” 

There was such conviction in his timbre, it rattled her. The concrete picture of his fiendish character dislodging in her mind, the pieces reassembling into a very different image. Here was the man she glimpsed earlier, a kind, vulnerable soul seeking comfort and understanding. 

_Just like me._

“…It’s the least I can do.”

Eventually, the two groups converged. Lord Selwyn extending renewed congratulations to Ser Jaime whilst Brienne got to meet Lord Tyrion Lannister. 

Throughout the introduction and all that followed, she continued to observe Jaime closely. The way he shrunk in upon himself whenever he noticed a noble’s eyeline fall to the end of his arm. Even when it was a false alarm and his sleeve was indeed covering his wrist, he still cupped his left hand over the end, or folded his arms across his chest. Burying the risk and adopting defensive posture in anticipation of ridicule. 

_It mars his spirit, turns his chest to lead. He feels about his stump the way I feel about my face, my clumsy awkward movements… my everything._

_I can understand him being ashamed of how he received the amputation – the punishment was equal to the crime. But the wrist itself is not unsightly, not in my opinion anyway._

_All warriors have scars and wounds – what is a missing extremity? The physicality of it does not repel me, it does not make me shriek or weep._

And so, when the last of their guests had been received and she saw him tugging furiously upon his sleeve again, she resolved to tell him. To create in him the same sense of understanding that his words had evoked in her. To let him feel accepted. 

_Because that is the gift, he just unwittingly gave me. Be it fleeting or unintended._

_Never before have I felt so seen….and that for me is rare and precious._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we know why Brienne decided to comfort Jaime about his stumped wrist ;)


	7. Wrath and Patience (BRIENNE III)

_‘Ladies eat like a sparrow…tiny morsels, little nibbles.’_

Septa Roelle’s coaching repeated continuously in her mind as she stared at her plate, laden with food she was apparently not allowed to eat in front of company. 

_‘Propriety dictates, you may not physically resemble a graceful Lady but your behaviour will reflect the ultimate in genteel refinement.’_

_This is ludicrous._

Brienne glowered, her irritation increasing with each passing scrape of fork and plate. She was starving and the day was lagging, dragging on ceaselessly with no end in sight. 

_First, I was denied lunch so I would fit into my dress, now I am seated before a dinner which must be purely ornamental._

She surveyed the crowd, spying the older woman across the other side of the room, the elongated tables arranged in a square and ordered in accordance to rank. Brienne met Roelle’s eyes, her gaze imploring. _I am hungry…_ Only to be refused with a subtle shake of her Septa’s strict head.

_This is unfair. The men can eat. They are not judged by the portions of food which pass their lips._

Huffing to herself, she picked at a blunted fingernail, worrying painfully at the quick to channel her annoyance. 

“Is the meal not to your liking?” 

Brienne started, swivelling in her seat towards Ser Jaime. His blonde eyebrows were raised quizzically, smirk quirking at the corner of his mouth, elbow resting casually on the table. 

_Septa Roelle would lecture me for hours if I did that._

It only served to inflame her irritation. 

“I could ask you the same question.” She replied bluntly. “You are our guest here at Evenfall, the customs of hospitality would have you sup upon our fare – yet I see your prime cut of meat goes untouched.” 

_We stockpiled supplies in trying times in order to host this feast, all food which could have gone to better causes._

“Is it not to your standard? I can think of no other reason for you to leave it to congeal.” 

“It seems I manage to offend without even trying.” To her exasperation he chuckled, and Brienne narrowed her blue eyes sharply, silently demanding a more thorough explanation. “I can assure you it is not a slight against the meal, nor the quality of your homeland. It is just - well I fear meat is an old nemesis of mine. I cannot manage to slice a steak without making a fool of myself and under present circumstances and scrutiny I do not wish for my dinner to end up in my lap.” Jaime shrugged helplessly and a good portion of her annoyance evaporated. “I imagine there are equally ridiculous grounds for why your dinner is going cold.” 

“There are.” She confessed. “For a Lady, feasting is not seemly.” 

Ser Jaime scoffed, reaching for his goblet. “Who invented these rules? They are outdated and make no difference. Men are fully aware that women eat, so why hide it? If you didn’t - you’d be dead. Just ignore them and eat your meal.”

_He would say that._

That simple sentence triggered a resurgence of her vexation, reminding her of all the transgressions the man beside her had committed. 

_I have been wavering tonight, I am malnourished and not thinking straight, letting his colourful displays befuddle and confuse me. Making me second-guess the facts about him that I know to be true._

_What he just said shows his blatant disregard for rules._

“I would expect nothing less of you.” Brienne bit. “It is well known that you place little value in tradition and oaths. Of course, you would advise me to break rules, never thinking further than yourself and your own wants. Never stopping to consider how such disobedience would negatively reflect upon my Father, on my Septa - how every action holds a ramification which extends beyond the selfish perpetrator. But I take great pride in abiding by tradition, in holding my head high with honour, and if you seek to corrupt me, I promise you will not succeed.” 

Ser Jaime snorted, amusement and frustration warring within. “So, we are back there already? I thought perhaps we had made some progress. But it’s always the same. Everything amounts to my slaying of fucking Aerys…”

“Don’t you dare!” She hissed. “I will not tolerate you sitting in my Father’s hall, swearing and downplaying your most atrocious of crimes.” 

“And I will not tolerate you taking me to task for something you know nothing about!”

Even though they whispered it grew heated, the pique evident in both their tones. Brienne pursed her lips, barely moving her mouth as she muttered. “We will continue this discussion in the hall.” 

“You expect me to leave this charming dinner so I can continue to bicker with you?” Jaime’s voice dripped with disdain as she swept angrily from her chair. “Why Wench we have our whole lives together to argue. There will be plenty of time for you to lament the curse that is my company…”

“Are you so craven?” Brienne squared her shoulders, lifting her chin and peering down the bridge of her nose at him. “Follow me.”

Pivoting roughly, she strode out a side exit, refusing to give him the satisfaction of checking over her shoulder. 

_If there is any worth in him as a man, he will come._

_And if not, I already have my answer._

[][][][][][][][]

Part of her expected him to yell, another quadrant was ready to step backwards. It was not unheard of for a man to strike a woman, although it was far from chivalrous. 

_If he even tries – I will flatten him._

“I am here.” Jaime’s spine was stiff, his manner formal. “Out with it.” He waved his hand in an all-encompassing circle. “Regale me with the list of my transgressions, divulge the torture and torment that is being my bride. I wager you cannot say anything I have not heard ample times before.”

“Does that alone not bother you?!” Brienne could hear the wrath grating at her timbre, raising its volume. Enough to almost drown out another small voice in her conscience, reminding her that perhaps Ser Jaime was not the entire reason she was angry... 

That perhaps it was being traded, the inequality between genders and the pressure on her shoulders, combined with a lack of food. 

But it did no good – rage had her in its grasp. And Jaime Lannister was going to feel it. “That you care so little about your wickedness that the mention of it has little effect upon your soul!” 

“After over a decade My Lady you can hardly blame me for being desensitised. The sting is never fully gone but its agony ebbs. It is difficult to dispute insults when for the better part they are true. I would ask if comments about your looks still inflict the same pain that I imagine they did in the beginning?” 

“Do not change the topic and insult me.” Him being correct only fanned her flames, increased her fuming. 

“It was not intended as an insult, merely a statement. I am a Kingslayer and you are homely. This is not new information to either of us – but I did hold hopes it wouldn’t define us.” 

“Why did you do it?” 

“Do what?” He cocked his head. 

“Kill your King. Soil the White Cloak. Obliterate your vows.” 

“That information is mine own. We do not know each other well enough yet for such private disclosures.” There was a sharpness in his tone, a defensiveness which banished all his previous levity and cavalier attitude towards the topic. It gave her pause. 

“You are to be my husband.” Brienne folded her arms across her chest. “I deserve to know the truth of the man I am to binding myself to. Was it power? Was it for your family? Was it purely because you could? To go down in history for ending the Targaryen reign?”

“I had my reasons, but I am not going to tell you. Not yet.” Jaime stepped closer, and to Brienne’s surprise he wasn’t irate with her for challenging him, only the hint of hurt etched across his features. “I have learnt better than to pour forth my deepest secrets, laying them out upon the table for outsiders to assess, dissect and dismiss at their leisure. I do not want you forming an opinion of me based solely upon the darkest moments in my life.” 

“What else do I have to go on?” She threw her arms out sideways in aggravation. “I must give myself to you, swear sacred vows to you in front of Gods and men. My oaths are my word, only given with solemnity and conviction. My honour is my most cherished trait. You cannot ask me to commit myself to a man I barely know, who over the course of just a few short hours has displayed a nature in direct contradiction with everything I was previously apprised of.” 

“Then believe your eyes, your ears. Not the accounts you’ve heard…” He was so close now his warm breath washed over her neck and shoulders, raising gooseflesh that was not entirely irksome. “…forget what you think you know. I want my wife to know the _real_ me. The man behind the notoriety, my true nature as opposed to the rumours steeped in villainy which paint me as the worst variety of human being. You don’t need to be told of my history to make up your mind about me, all you could possibly need is right here in front of you. Not locked in a throne room twelve years in my past.” 

Brienne swallowed around the lump in her throat. “You imply that you had valid cause, though I struggle to imagine what would justify sticking a sword in a monarch’s back, slitting his throat to ensure the iniquitous job was finished.” 

Lord Jaime sighed, his shoulders slumping, searching the walls and ceiling for answers they couldn’t provide. 

_Yet still he is patient with my persistent provocation – others would have bellowed at me by now._

“I know you do not like me Lady Brienne...” When she searched his face, she saw sadness and fatigue, a warrior fighting a never-ending battle, a swimmer struggling against the tide. 

“...You think me the worst of men – and my contrary, changeable behaviour today has done little to dissuade you from that viewpoint – but it will take time to get to know each other. Miracles are not worked in the space of a few hours, especially not when it outwardly appears we are on the opposite ends of the moral spectrum. All I ask is that we make the most of the short time between now and our nuptials tomorrow to get to know each other, that we employ patience when we encounter our differences and try to see eye to eye. Find common ground. Snapping at each other and dragging me out into a hallway during our engagement banquet is achieving little good. Demanding answers equally as pointless. It is a quick fix, not a permanent solution.” 

_He speaks sense. There is wisdom in his counsel._

“We have only a day…” She protested, but Jaime was ready and waiting for her to balk. 

“And today we only had half a day.” He lifted a shoulder. “After spending only a few hours in your company, I already want to know the woman behind the walls. You think you are defined by your face - but it was only a shock the first time I looked upon you and only made me blink the second. By times three and four it paled into insignificance, overshadowed by the tenacity and mulishness of your personality. Now, I don’t even notice your irregularities anymore – I am too busy noting the flare of your nostrils suggesting hidden indignation or the odd blotches of red which take over your skin. Tell me – are they indicative of embarrassment or anger?” 

“Both.” Her reply was uncharacteristically meek, ducking her head in an attempt to conceal the heat which was collecting beneath her cheeks at the mere mention. 

“…and now?” 

“The former.” It was true, Brienne was no longer maddened. Logic accepting the validity of his plan, intrigue wondering what else there was to uncover.

And also a new sensation - her system besieged by an unsettling magnetism, affected by the gravity of his lodestone. Drawing her into his sphere and urging her to explore the man behind the stigma as per his suggestion. 


	8. Wrath and Patience (JAIME III)

“…was it for power? Was it for your family? Was it purely because you could? To go down in history for ending the Targaryen reign?” The accusation in her young face was nearly too much for him. 

_So much hatred towards me, a man she barely knows. In defence of a King she never met – and for that fact she should be grateful. He was a monster._

“I had my reasons, but I am not going to tell you. Not yet.” 

It was nearly unfathomable how difficult it was to withhold his side of the story from Brienne of Tarth, even his legs propelled him towards her, one tentative step at a time. There was an innocence in her face which made him want to purge his soul at her altar, kneel before her and seek absolution. 

_But it would never work. Not like this. She has no cause to believe me. All she has heard is that I’m dishonourable – and dishonourable men lie._

“I have learnt better than to pour forth my deepest secrets, laying them out upon the table for outsiders to assess, dissect and dismiss at their leisure. I do not want you forming an opinion of me based solely upon the darkest moments in my life.” 

_Aerys. It is always Aerys. The Mad King. The poor sovereign who felt my blade slip across his jugular._

_Never the truth. Never Aerys, the man who was obsessed with fire, roasting people alive for sport. Never Aerys, the man who raped his wife. Never Aerys, the man who would have burnt a city to the ground just so he could live out some fantasy of rising like a dragon._

_Because of him my life is shit. Because of him I am spat upon. And because of him my future wife loathes me. Pre-disposed to look down upon me, write me off as irredeemable…_

_Unless I can change her mind._

“What else do I have to go on? I must give myself to you, swear sacred oaths to you in front of Gods and men…”

_She is right. It is an unfair ask. For both of us. And I can hear in her despair that she too wanted a loving partner. A husband she could respect and adore. Maybe we are not so different._

Whilst he hung on her every word an idea was taking shape within the recesses of his skull. His thoughts latching onto his own dreams of a blissful marriage and happily ever after, the almost unattainable goal of being loved by his wife. 

_If I can convince her to see the real me, maybe, just maybe, the impossible can become reality._

“…who over the course of just a few short hours has displayed a nature in direct contradiction with everything I was previously apprised of...” 

Hope burst aflame in his chest. 

_She is insightful. Her hatred for me is not so deep that it blinded her from seeing the truth. Already she has discerned a different side of me, the true side…_

  
“Then believe your eyes, your ears. Not the accounts you’ve heard…” 

Of course, the first step in his plan was admitting to himself the attraction he felt for his betrothed. She had cradled his wrist with tender digits and the impulse to touch her and return the favour had made his fingers twitch at his side. Now the same urges only amplified with the passion of their confrontation, his admiration for a woman of substance and strength enhancing the pull of desire awakening inside him. 

Inch by inch he narrowed the physical distance between them, his vantage point allowing him a closer view of the muscles in her arms bulging against her sleeves. Her oceanic eyes of limitless blue emanating a silent siren song, until he wanted to dive into their waters, bathe in her goodness. Her scent filled his lungs, an aroma unknown to his olfactory senses, yet familiar to his soul. The phenomena of its calming affect prompting him to take lengthy inhales, until he could almost taste it upon his tongue. 

“…forget what you think you know.”

As he continued speaking, Jaime knew he had chosen the right avenue, the gooseflesh dotting her speckled ivory skin teasing him to fantasize that the attraction might be mutual. “I want my wife to know the _real_ me…” 

[][][][][][][][]

By the time they returned, the meals had been cleared away, the guests ushered into the various sitting rooms neighbouring the dining hall. 

Within nobles and dignitaries milled about, socialising gaily whilst servers flitted between them topping up their goblets. Weaving skilfully amongst the guests, showing their agility in both balance and precision. Wine and ale flowed generously, toasts made to the betrothed couple’s health and fertility. 

_Quite ironic considering they didn’t even notice our absence. It is all just an excuse to drink themselves silly._

Behind him, Brienne caught a servant by the sleeve, enquiring as to the whereabouts of her Father, only to be informed that he had retired for the night. Her posture visibly slumped, face drooping at the idea of being left alone to fend for herself amidst the venomous courtiers. Jaime tarried, waiting for her to match pace with him so she wouldn’t navigate the mayhem alone. 

“The server told me they organised the rooms according to station, but few are abiding by it.” Brienne mumbled, and he was heartened by the increase in their communication. “How do we know where to go?” 

“It’s easier than you’d think –" Jaime manoeuvred his way back out into the corridor with his bride-to-be at his shoulder. "- Just listen for King Robert’s booming laughter. You can hear him for leagues when he is in his cups.” 

As if on cue, the uproarious sound of a male’s amusement rebounded from a side room marked by marble door handles - at least three entrances away from the grander, gilded chamber logic would have dictated the royals occupy. 

Brienne nodded her approval as they began walking. “You know him well.” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Should I enquire?” She glanced his way, her knuckles whitened where they gripped her skirt and Jaime recognised her efforts to hold the hem clear of her feet. Each step taken carefully and purposefully as she picked her way across the carpet.

“It is not for the reason you think.” The lion gave her a pointed look, lifting his eyebrows slightly. “He is just not my type of person. He favours whoring, drinking in excess and my Father informs me he lashes out when in a temper.” Jaime sighed. “I know if anyone can drive a man to his wit’s end it is Cersei – but that it no excuse. I find the notion of striking your woman unconscionable. King or not – he will never have my respect.” 

“Your speech is almost treasonous.” Her mouth set in a firm line as her boots made scuff marks on the plush-pile below. 

_Boots?! She wore boots beneath her gown instead of slippers?! Unconventional, rebellious and I like it immensely. Pity she does not like me though._

He frowned. “Another crime to add to my list perhaps?” 

“Generally speaking, yes – but in this instance I agree with you.” Brienne bit her lip in thought and he knew she was debating her next sentence, openness winning out for a rare change as she added. “I instinctually felt that my last match would choose physical chastisement. I do not respond well to threats and oppression.” 

“Naturally – and I’m glad you taught him a lesson.”

“Really?” Brienne seemed sceptical at best - though not entirely surprised - and it was only now Jaime registered that both of them had halted their movement, buying more time to talk. “Most find that story off-putting.” 

“Not I. He deserved it and I am impressed _you_ could put _him_ in his place instead of the other way around.” 

A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Violence has its place – in the practise yard, a battlefield, defending the weak, fighting for justice. Any individual who would abuse it deserves to be condemned.” 

“I sense a passion…”

“Yes.” The Maid of Tarth did not skip a beat before affirming his surmise. “In Lady’s garb I am awkward, clumsy. A misfit and oddity to be mocked.” She glanced down at her boots, shuffling them back until the tips were concealed from view beneath her skirt. “With a weapon in hand, I am a different person. Men fear me, they try to defeat me and can’t. I expect no leniencies in the yard – that would be my one exception to the rule. I strive to be the equal of the soldiers and knights I duel with. It would be patronising for them to measure their blows…” He glimpsed an emotion akin to humour as she added. “…and a mistake.” 

Jaime chuckled, his smile beaming. He was about to tell her of his assent when an attendant scurrying from their destination sitting room noticed their presence. Taking it upon himself to hold the door open and announce their arrival. 

The lion battled his onset of disappointment and headed for the entrance. 

_We are supposedly the guests of honour after all._

Inside was just as chaotic as he would have predicted. 

_I have seen this type of farce many times._

Firelight from sconces and the hearth bathed the sitting area in an amber glow, lending an ambience and softness which was in stark contrast to the pandemonium unfolding. The briefest of scans of the crowded room told him that both Robert and Cersei had indulged in excess, alcohol providing a crutch both of them relied upon heavily. 

Robert stood in front of the fireplace, animatedly regaling the audience with tales from his most recent hunting trip. Wine sloshing from his goblet with the exaggerated gestures of his arms, the burgundy liquid splattering on his boots and the rug below. 

Jaime saw Brienne wince and hoped it wasn’t a treasured family heirloom. 

A hapless server struggled to refill the King’s chalice as he talked, getting barked at for not completing the task quickly enough whilst Robert made no effort to still his arm. Eventually the poor boy missed entirely, a gush of wine splattering upon the floor. 

“Look what you’ve done!” His Grace bellowed. “Ruined my good boots! Useless! Be off with you. All of you. We’ll serve ourselves, by the King’s decree!” 

The attendants scattered, hastily arranging the remaining pitchers and empty chalices upon a nearby table, disappearing before they could incur further wrath. 

Cersei giggled and hiccupped, sprawled upon a chaise longue and surrounded by fawning lickspittles. The blathering ladies complimenting her profusely on her hair, her gown, the entirety of her magnificent perfection. 

_I’m pleased I did not eat much – I suddenly feel queasy._

After a minute or two, the monarchs deigned to acknowledge their presence, Cersei making a mild effort to sit up straighter in her seat, blinking blearily. “Look who has decided to join us – about time.” 

Jaime gave a shallow bow, he despised having to show deference to either King or Queen. 

“Apologies for our tardiness, my bride-to-be and I were getting better acquainted.” 

“Sampling the merchandise early eh?” Robert dissolved into guffaws at his own jape and the other men felt obliged to follow suit.

The lion’s tone was glacial. “Hardly.” 

He felt Brienne bristle beside him at the innuendo, but she remembered her manners and offered a respectful bow of her own. “Your Graces, I am sorry for our lateness. We lost track of time.” 

For Robert it sufficed, the King returning to the tale of his hunting trip as though the couple bored him - but Cersei had found a new toy, and its name was Brienne. The cruel glint in her eyes magnified by her alcohol-soaked state. 

“A bow?” She arched a perfectly sculpted brow. “I’m afraid that will not do. Ladies curtsy. Try again.” 

Jaime felt his blood begin to boil as he peered at Brienne out of the corner of his eye, her distress obvious as she shifted her feet beneath her skirt, attempting to place them accurately. 

_Can she not curtsy? Surely her Septa taught her…_

With horror he recalled her gait in the hall, the way she had to monitor each footfall to keep from tripping, her open admission to clumsiness. 

Simultaneously Cersei demanded. “Hurry up – I haven’t all night.” 

To her detriment, Brienne sped up her deliberately careful process, rushing and taking risks in order to free herself from this pantomime. 

Jaime’s arm shot out with cat-quick reflexes as she stumbled forward, tripping over the bottom of her flowing hemline, her blue eyes widened in alarm. Unfortunately for them both, Jaime’s default reaction had been to reach out with his right hand, its absence resulting in her falling clean past his grab, her forward momentum sending her hurtling. 

Recovering from his own blunder, he yanked his arm back to try again, this time hooking his wrist through the loop of Brienne’s elbow at the last second, hauling her upright just before she landed, sprawled upon the carpet. Empathy emanating from him as her skin erupted in vermilion splotches and Cersei cackled. 

The chorus of ridiculing laughter hit them like a wave, the Queen’s ladies tittering as Cersei herself held a dainty hand to her chest, as though she may combust from fits of hilarity. 

That’s when he saw red. In the interior of his eyelids, in the blood rushing behind his ears, in the rage burning up the back of his neck. Lannister crimson was their colour, even the wine tinted with the scarlet hue. The colour of warning, the colour of fury. 

“Cersei –” When he dropped her honourific the ladies gasped in appal and his sister's giggling abruptly ceased as she glared at him. “- I thought a Queen was meant to be gracious, exemplary and accepting? I did not think she was so insecure as to become reliant upon belittling her future good-sister in order to appease her own thirst for malice.” 

“You speak out of line brother.” She snarled. 

“Then punish me. Imprison me. Send me to the stocks. It will not stop my words from ringing with truth. It will not make them unheard by all who witnessed your pettiness.” He smiled then, a cutting, sinister smile that the Lannister’s had all perfected. It ran in their lineage and could send chills down even the toughest of spines. “But wait – if you do imprison me, I will not be able to wed upon the morrow. I wonder if that will put a crimp in anyone’s plans?”

If Cersei's looks could kill, he would have died a thousand deaths but all it gave him was satisfaction. 

_Humiliate my future wife and you will feel my wrath._

Though outweighing the bizarreness of everything that had unfolded was the moment Brienne herself stepped in. Keen to diffuse the growing tension and throw water on his flames. Her voice quavered; her nerves still shaken, but she mustered up a courage which exceeded any woman he had ever known. 

“Ser Jaime is just being chivalrous. A meritorious trait in a husband-to-be...” 

_Is she protecting me?_ His chest swelled with endearment. 

“...My apologies for my clumsiness. I am not known for my grace.” 

“Clearly.” Cersei’s full lips puckered, stained a deeper maroon from the wine. “I will let this affront slide – this time.” Sipping from her chalice he could tell she wasn’t done with him. “Twin – seeming as you seem _so_ fond of your betrothed, I would suggest you be the gentleman and fetch her a drink – and one for you as well… If you can.” 

_Hateful woman._

He crossed to the beverage table under the weight of a dozen stares, left hand well-practised but still lacking dexterity as he prepared the cups and poured. 

_I did it. Now to carry them…two is always the problem._

While he was puzzling it out, Brienne appeared at his side, concern creating a line in the centre of her young brow. “I can take my own.” She held out her large hand but Jaime shook his head rigorously. 

“I won’t give them the satisfaction, I can manage.” 

“Ser Jaime…”

“If you help – she wins. Cersei proves that I am useless.” He picked up one goblet, pinning it between his stump and his stomach before reaching for the second. But he could feel the first tilting, slipping. See the liquid lapping at the brim, ready to spill. 

_Fuck._

He hastily dropped the second goblet, letting it teeter precariously as he grabbed to save the first. His move was too late, over half the contents had already flowed in a waterfall from the cup, soaking his sleeve, the jerking motion of his left elbow ramming into the second cup which was still rocking, sending it clattering on its side to the tabletop. 

More laughter bounced from behind him and he stiffened at the sound. Robert’s loud voice hollering. “Doing a brilliant job Kingslayer!” 

Jaime hung his head, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he felt movement in front of him. His lids receding to see Brienne mopping up the spillage with a server’s cloth, the bodice of her pale blue gown dotted with burgundy. He grimaced. “I’m sorry. I’m prideful and foolish. The worst combination.” 

“Well I’m stubborn and I would have done the same thing.” She caught a river of wine in the cloth before it cascaded off the table edge.

“Your dress…”

“It doesn’t matter. Such things hold little importance to me.”

He watched Brienne in awe, affection for this extraordinary woman intensifying by the hour. “You are incredibly patient My Lady, putting up with my ill-humour is no walk in the gardens. You have my gratitude.” 

“Please, do not flatter me unduly. I am quite bad-tempered myself at times – which I think I displayed earlier. It is just that your reactions in this situation do not aggravate or antagonise me, in fact I think them warranted and well justified. Your family’s on the other hand…” She huffed. “Your Father stood by and did nothing to stop or prevent that. Your sister seeks to ridicule you in public. My Father would never dream of being so uncaring towards me. How can kin be so heartless?” 

“Cersei was cruel to you too.” He nudged Brienne gently with his shoulder, and she dropped the sodden cloth in surprise at the sudden contact. “Mayhaps we are in this together?” 

This time he knew intuitively that the pink in her cheeks was not from embarrassment. The shade girlish, bashful and demure. “Maybe we are Ser.” 


	9. Sloth and Diligence (JAIME IV)

Jaime woke with the sun for the first time in years. Eyes blinking awake of their own accord without the usual insistent staff member rapping upon his door. Once his rousing had been routine, the call of steel in the yard his motivation to bound out of bed and face the day. But when his sword hand was lost, he had found more comfort in the cosy folds of his sheets and blankets. Shutting his eyes and escaping to a dreamworld where he remained whole. 

_This early rising is nearly unprecedented._

Fisting his eyes one by one, he yawned languidly and sat up, squinting at the pale dawn light. Watching it gradually chase away the dark beyond his window. 

_Maybe it is pre-wedding jitters._

_Maybe I am hungry – I didn’t eat much last night._

_Or maybe…_

It was there, he could feel it. An enthusiasm he thought long quashed, a zest and vitality for life which had drained out of him with the blood pumping from his right wrist over a decade ago. 

_It’s the Wench’s influence. It must be. The way she spoke about combat and swordplay. It reinvigorated something within me._

_But still… it is so very early._

Flopping down on the mattress he weighed his options. 

_I could go back to sleep and forget this silly incident. Or I could clothe myself and begin the day along with the morning birds._

It had been an age since he’d bothered to seize the first beams of daylight. Embracing them for the liberation and solitude that they held. The precious hours when the day still remained full of promise and potential. 

_Gods know soon enough I will not have a minute to myself - 'Grooms' are so called because they require extensive 'grooming' after all._

Jaime chuckled at his own witticism, then huffed as he made his decision, lifting limbs of dead weight from the mattress with tremendous effort. 

_Why is it in the morning I feel every bit my age?_

He groaned and stretched, flinching at the bite of cool air against his skin and questioning his decision all over again. 

_Only going back to bed would mean admitting I am old. An aging lion who would prefer to laze than stalk the grounds. Not the best mindset when I am about to wed an energetic young woman._

Refusing to accept any more of his own protestations, he began to wash and dress.

[][][][][][][][][]

_Tarth is certainly picturesque._

Walking around the outer walls reminded him somewhat of the Rock, only the sea was bluer, the countryside greener. The same sharpness of salt water permeated the air, the same crisp morning breeze rippling the ocean and rifling his hair. 

When Jaime began his stroll, he had chosen not to torment himself by passing by the armoury and practise yard, preferring not to subject himself to the ache of his own inadequacy. Nowadays he only trained in isolation and always alone, in the middle of the night or when he rode into the depths of the forest. His self-consciousness had made the hilt of his sword feel even more unnatural in his left palm, his thoughts haunted by what any witnesses could be thinking.

_"I wonder if that’s how he slew the King?”_

_“There struggles the once mighty Lion of Lannister, making a fool of himself by trying to fight with his left hand. If I were him, I'd have kept what scraps of dignity I had remaining and given up."_

_"Gods! He can’t even wield a sword anymore! Just as well.”_

_“They said he was greatness personified in his youth - now look at him. My steward’s dog has more skill.”_

_“He is a disgrace to the title of Knight and not worthy of such fine steel.”_

Even his attempts to convince himself it was only his own paranoia had been unsuccessful, and after a while the thing which he used to love most had become torture. 

Which is why his sudden unconscious decision to visit the yard astounded him.

_Damn feet and legs - traitors both - but I must forgive them._ _My limbs can't help remembering what it felt like, my muscles' memory sharper than even my brain. But my right hand cannot recall its glory days – for it is gone, turned to dust along with my prime._

Jaime could hear the tell-tale thwacks of a hessian dummy suffering the full force of an eager warrior. The whip and whir as a sword sliced through the atmosphere, the creak and splintering of straw as the wedged blade was wriggled free. In the quiet of the morn each sound carried to his ears like the merry laughter of old friends, and he was drawn to it as though a moth to the flame. Knowing it would hurt but unable to resist. 

_Those blows must have some might behind them to bury themselves so deeply I can hear the straw snapping. This I must see…_

Rounding the corner of the armoury, Jaime spotted a stone bench and crept his way forward, keeping his head low and his presence unobtrusive. He didn’t want to disturb the keen fighter’s training session, but was eager to spectate.

Lowering down onto the hard surface, it was only now he permitted himself to fix his stare upon the warrior before him. And when he did his jaw slackened, mouth gaping open in amazement and reverence. 

Brienne was clad in boiled leathers, their fitted shape hugging and emphasizing every inch of sinew and brawn in her strong frame. Revealing the reach of her impossibly long arms, the ripple of her biceps. The true length of her legs, breadth of her shoulders and power in her body. 

_Especially her thighs…_

Jaime glanced away for a moment to collect himself, feeling a stirring in his crotch. Needing to combat his arousal if he were to watch his betrothed in action. 

_Am I a green squire? Pull it together._

Turning back to the captivating scene before him, he felt a grin spreading across his face as he admired her technique and skill. The way she moved forward with grace and fluidity to strike but then held her posture rigid at the moment of impact. Her feet were planted perfectly apart – if not a little too aligned - as if the distance had been measured by a Maester. Her grip upon the sword faultless in its balance of tension and relaxation. 

_She spoke honestly, with a weapon in hand all her ungainliness disappears, replaced with a sure, confident swordswoman._

He watched quietly for what felt an age, until one of Brienne's blows cleaved the stuffed torso before her in two – then he could no longer resist. Whooping and cheering, creating applause by smacking his left hand against his knee.

Brienne whirled around to face him and he was delighted to watch her initial panic dissipate when she placed his face. Standing to greet her, Jaime gave a low whistle and she pinked slightly, hacking at the air with her sword before poking the tip into the dirt. Drawing nondescript patterns as the awkward maiden returned. “How long have you been watching me?”

“Long enough to know you’re magnificent.” 

_In every regard…_

He hastily chastised himself for thinking with his cock, changing the topic before he became hard and made the conversation exceedingly uncomfortable. “Do you always come out here so early?”

“Every day without fail...” Brienne nodded, sidling nearer, halting when she was several feet away. Close enough to converse, but maintaining a respectful distance between them. _Dammit._

“...I practise daily to increase my endurance and muscle tone, but Father would prefer I am not seen… like this.” She glanced down shyly at the form-fitting leather. “My Septa told him it is not ladylike to have my figure so clearly defined. In these dawn hours I am guaranteed not to be disturbed-” She wrinkled her brow, analysing how him standing before her made that statement incorrect. “-most of the time.” 

“Well that is very diligent of you.” His tone was tinged with both teasing and respect. “I used to be like that once.” 

“Once?” Brienne angled her head, intelligible eyes connecting dots. “Is that why you came out here today? To train? Or perhaps to let off steam before the wedding?” 

“No – you will not find a logical explanation, oddly enough I just ‘woke up early’. These days my visits to the training yard are infrequent at best, generally I enjoy lying in.” 

His future wife frowned. “That is quite indolent.” 

The lion shrugged, plonking himself back down on the bench. “A soft mattress, plush pillows, feather-down quilt – why ever leave?” He winked despite himself. “The only thing missing from the list is a woman but I have it on good authority that will soon be solved.” 

He savoured her blush deepening, the way she sucked her lips into her mouth to keep her expression from disclosing her thoughts. “I will not tolerate a lazy husband and if you expect me to join you in your apathy you are sorely mistaken.”

“I never said there wouldn’t be activity…just not the kind you are used to I’ll wager.” Jaime flashed her a winning smile. 

Brienne narrowed her eyes, unimpressed by his flirting. “I will be keeping my morning routine _and_ track record of attendance intact.” She peered upwards at the brightening sky and he could practically see an unspoken phrase simmering beneath her surface.

“Out with-it Wench. Do not hold back from me. We can at least commend each other’s frankness.” 

“Very well.” Lowering her gaze to study him, she was solemn and unsmiling. “When I heard I was to be wed to Jaime Lannister, there was actually one aspect of your repute which appealed to me. Ever since my youth I have heard tales of your skill with a blade, a prodigy from a young age, an excellent swordsman. But now I learn you have grown lax, letting your Gods given talents go to rust, favouring the creature comforts of your bed over a training yard.”

“That’s not fair.” His brow knitted in umbrage, her criticisms finding their mark in his ego. Hitting home because they were all too accurate. 

“I train whenever I can… it is just. I’m not the fighter that I used to be...” He hung his head, tracing the squiggles she had drawn in the dirt with his eyes. 

“...I was the best.” Jaime admitted, his voice small, balling his left hand at his side in frustration and shame. “But now I am a cripple, my instincts are wrong, my grip is weak, my mind my worst enemy. I have struggled for twelve odd years, snatching what moments I can to try and improve away from prying eyes, to conceal the truth of my incompetence from the world and myself. After a while it just felt easier to hide in bed and ignore my shortcomings.” 

When he convinced himself to meet her gaze again, he saw only solicitude. “It hurts, almost as much as losing my hand did. Swordplay wasn’t just a skill or pastime; it was a part of me.”

“I understand.” Her scolding tone was gone, gentleness taking its place. 

“I know you do – especially after what I had the privilege to watch this morning.” Jaime nodded his acclaim. “It is why I would never demand that you place your sword aside – for what it’s worth you have my word on that. When we are wed – continue. Fight, train, enter the lists if you wish, you have my blessing - not that I feel you required my permission, but I know some men frown on this sort of pursuit for a woman. Not me. Treasure your talents, savour the rush in your veins, the pumping of your blood...it is sacred and you never know when it will be gone…”

“You can have it again.” Brienne strode forward so suddenly it caught him off guard. 

“Pardon?” He blinked in confusion as she lifted his left hand from his side, pulling him to his feet. Her large digits prising his clenched fist open. 

“I will help you.” She fit the hilt of her practise sword into his palm, closing his fingers around the metal pre-warmed by her touch. Wrapping her hands around his until he was cradled in her surety. “We can train together. Learn from each other. I will help you every step of the way. I warn you – I am a harsh taskmistress, but I will not let you fail. If you want to feel the rush again, we can achieve it.” 

He weighed the metal in his fist, surrounded by the comforting support of her fingers. The faint flicker of fervour and excitement he had earlier attributed to her influence, roaring to life in full force. Reanimating him from lethargy and making him feel whole for the first time in forever. 

“Thank you.” Jaime grinned, adjusting his grip on instinct, and Brienne smiled back at him, toothy and utterly charming. Here in her natural element she was uninhibited, content amidst leather, perspiration and metal. He knew she recognised the motion beneath her fingers, the well-practised tightening of his hold, her encouragement increasing his avidity. 

“I accept on one condition…” 

The Maid of Tarth angled her head in question, and the adorable innocence in her mien sent his growing affection for her soaring higher than the climbing sun. 

“…can we start now?” 


	10. Sloth and Diligence (BRIENNE IV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we have now passed the halfway mark, I would like to take a moment to say a huge thank-you to everyone who has been reading and commenting. I appreciate your support whole-heartedly and it has been the highlight of my days. <3 JB Week is such a fun time to celebrate in this fandom, I love every moment of it and I am honoured to be a part of this big Braime family. Hugs!

Brienne rose with the dawn, stomach growling like a caged animal, muscles itching for the weight of a sword in her hand. She could not stand being idle, sleep a necessity that often-seemed a thorough waste of precious time which could be better spent training or reading. Collected and composed she donned her boiled leathers then made for the kitchen. 

The warrior maid’s methodical regimen had been in place for years, her system fine-tuned to her timetable. Come rain, hail, sleet or shine – she never skipped a day. Brienne held her structured approach to building her strength and refining her craft responsible for her easy victory against even a seasoned Knight like Humfrey Wagstaff. Therefore, daily attendance at the yard was more mandatory than visiting the Sept on Maiden’s Day. 

Eerily serene, she wolfed down breakfast, pleased that even Septa Roelle was not yet out of bed. The older woman was likely to stop her from eating such a large portion or at the very least from quaffing down her meal in her rushed and unladylike manner. 

But Brienne was determined she would not squander a moment, these spare stolen hours were sacred and scant. The fleeting interim between night and day the opportunity for her to bask in the first gilded rays of sunlight, relishing a taste of freedom before her official duties began. 

She barrelled down the stairs two at a time, her leathers well-worn and silent in the stone alleyways, the monologue in her mind the loudest noise as she fetched her practise blade from the armoury and began to hone it with a whet stone. 

_My wedding day. I thought this day would never come._

The concept of spinsterhood hadn’t bothered her. If anything, she had been relieved. Her excusal from the customary matrimonial sentence imposed upon noble daughters a weight lifted from her shoulders. Her unsuitability a boon from the heavens. 

Whilst marriage had been romanticised and exalted in her youth, preconditioning could only prove minimally effective when she possessed an analytical brain and strong-willed spirit. The combination lifting the veil of quixotic illusion, casting it aside and confronting her with reality. 

Robbed of its poetry and flowers, wedlock appeared more like a punishment than an aspiration, an ending rather than a beginning. And from that point forward the idea of her potential wedding had caused a knot in her stomach, filling her with an unshakeable dread. 

But even more curiously, over the course of the last day, her perspective on the topic had shifted again. Brienne was not overtaken by foreboding, nor the impulse to run for the hills and never look back. 

The development was most bizarre and would require further pondering. 

Brienne was introspective and thoughtful whilst she went through her paces, flowing from stance to stance with the fluidity of a seasoned swordswoman. Hacking at a straw dummy with precise and meticulous swings. 

_I am nervous, but not for the reasons I would expect._

_I am anxious about the crowd, the stares._

_I am nauseous at the prospect of walking to the altar, terrified I will fall over my own oversized feet when they inevitably trod upon my dress._

_I am flustered at the notion of publicly repeating my vows, forgetting a line or stammering when the focus of an entire Sept of people is upon me-_

_But other than that…_

After sorting through her myriad of emotions, her deduction was both clarifying and bewildering. Brienne had pinpointed and identified each trivial item which could cause potential distress, none of them bearing even a passing resemblance to the most obvious and foreseeable conclusion. Resulting in an understanding of why _exactly_ she was so relaxed upon a day she had been avoiding for years. 

Her startling discovery determining that the one aspect of her impending nuptials which didn’t instil apprehension – was her future husband. 

_Jaime is the sole part of today I am content with – in a thousand years and my wildest of imaginings – I never would have predicted that._

She rewarded herself with a double handed swing. Her sword whizzing through the air in a wide arc, gathering momentum and severing the dummy before her in half. A wasteful destruction, but oddly satisfying. Proof of the muscle tone she had gained in her upper arms and the consistent power of her blows over a sustained period.

_My training is paying dividends…_

Loud, off-beat applause reverberated from the walls of the nearby armoury, a bold, bolstering hurrah breaking the peaceful morn. Brienne whirled on her heel towards the commotion, ready to chastise whomever had the nerve to trespass upon her alone time uninvited. 

The reprimand died on her tongue when she beheld her future husband. Bashfulness and a warm glow from within giving rise to more questions and simultaneously providing answers, forcing her to accept the unfathomable workings of her heart. 

_I am happy to see him._

[][][][][][][][]

“You shouldn’t grimace before you lunge – it gives away the game. And how many times do I have to remind you about those legs…?” The lion Lord tilted his head to the side, ebullient emeralds scrutinising her stance. “…if you keep them that even, then you are just a hulking wall of woman, easy to barrel into and knock over. Or worse your knees could be kicked out from beneath you. Move one leg forward and the other back, it will increase your resistance.” 

Brienne blew a strand of sweat-soaked hair off her forehead, the exertion making her skin damp with perspiration even though the atmosphere was still cool. The Maid of Tarth knew it would soon change; the sun gradually gaining strength as it made its ascent above, the heat of the day bringing with it the castle inhabitants, driving servants and soldiers alike out of doors. She doubted they would be alone much longer. 

_But I don’t want this to end, even if I am frustrated, I am enjoying myself. And I think Ser Jaime is as well… if that irritating smirk is any indication._

“I am grimacing, not as a tell, but because you keep goading me.” She huffed, changing tact. “Though you are very conscientious in appraising my stance and I thank you. I have not had a partner to train with for many moons – I appreciate your constructive criticisms.” 

Gesturing with her free hand towards his practise sword, she offered advice of her own. “You need to reverse direction when you block, it isn’t working with your left hand and leaves you vulnerable. I counted several unguarded spots I could easily take advantage of.”

“Is that so? Very well, I shall try it your way…” He crouched slightly, an invitation for her to charge, grinning wolfishly, his tone musing. “…though I might enjoy you taking advantage of me Wench, any particular spots which appealed?"

Her cheeks scalded, scandalised and unprepared for the way he would twist her turn of phrase. “Lord Lannister-” Brienne spoke through gritted teeth, channelling all her lessons in ladylike conduct to maintain an even temper. “-I will politely ask you to _desist._ Both your address of me and the innuendo – neither is proper.” 

“So formal.” Her betrothed’s tone was sportive, unfazed. “You know – there is a wedding this afternoon, which means we are to be lovers tonight. Therefore…” He feigned deep rumination. “…I think you can call me Jaime.”

“Shush-” Brienne’s response was brusque, fuelled by disquietude. Pointedly looking to the sky, the dirt, the distant buildings – anywhere but directly at him. 

_He’s right, I know he’s right. I can’t think about that now._

“-We mustn’t speak of such things.” 

“But we qualify for first name basis! Surely there is nothing wrong with it…”

“It was not _that_ part of the statement which I was objecting to.”

“Oh? Then which part?” 

_He is doing this on purpose._

_Inhale, exhale, count to ten._ “Never mind.” By some miracle, her pitch was even. “Let us recommence our training.” 

Brienne rationalised that it must have been divine intervention when Jaime complied and fell silent. The yard filled with only the soothing melody of their clashing steel. It lasted all of a minute. 

“Legs! Legs! You are doing it again my Wench, anyone would think you wish to be knocked flat on your back….”

“Alright, I’ve had enough!” The bark in her voice broke free, unwittingly divulging her exasperation. “I am neither _yours_ yet nor a _wench_. And if you insist upon titling me thus once more, I will put an immediate end to this exercise…” 

Brienne halted mid-scold – observing the nonplussed way he slipped the practice sword into his belt, cavalierly crossing his arms over his chest and chuckling quietly to himself. “Testy, aren’t you?” 

“No, I’m not.” She was instantly affronted. 

“Yes, you are – look at you! You’re fuming. You are just trying to suppress it, quench your own fire. Though I can practically see the steam billowing out your ears.” He wiggled his index finger free, gesturing at her burning ears. “Good thing I favour a woman with passion.” 

Her brow creased in uncertainty, not understanding his motive. 

_Is this malicious? Mockery? Ill-intentioned? I sense no venom in his delivery, but I don’t understand…_

“Why do you say these things?” Her voice hitched and she was stunned by the evidence of upset held within her octave. “Have you decided you do not wish for my company? If so, simply say as much. Make your meaning plain, so there can be no misinterpretation…”

“I am teasing you Brienne.” Jaime’s expression was soft, his tongue rolling over her name like honey. “Hasn’t anyone ever been jocular around you? Given you a good ribbing?”

“The Tarth family are serious of nature.” Her bottom lip formed a pout of its own accord as she sheathed her sword. “The only time I have been called names is by those who ridicule me - they are insults intended to wound.” 

Jaime sighed, the rush of air changing his mood, stepping towards her gingerly, as if approaching an injured deer. “Well I was only playing. I do not wish to hurt you…” Her breath caught in her lungs when he raised his hand to her face, crooked finger skirting across her cheek and hooking a strand of hair behind her ear. “…I will stop if you don’t like it.” 

“No-” The answer was lightning quick and it took her brain a beat to catch up with her mouth, processing her own reasoning. “-now that I know, I can handle it. Just please be mindful of when it is used. In the yard it is character building - anger can help fuel me. But when I am acting my role as Lady, I already feel a laughing stock. I don’t need you making it worse by poking at me.” 

Amusement flickered across his handsome face, opening his mouth and then making a point of letting her see the way his teeth lightly clamped upon his tongue. “You are going to make it quite difficult to behave – some of the things you say. I don’t think you even realise.” 

_What? What did I say?_

Brienne sifted through her last comments only to become distracted by own emotions. The way he teased igniting something within her which she could not describe. A contradictory urge to either hit him or…

_He is so very close; does he know the air around him sizzles? Turning the crispness of the morn into a sweltering furnace._

Jaime smiled as if reading her thoughts. “Now – what were we talking about again?” He strolled around behind her and she turned her head to watch, trying to anticipate his next ploy and failing. “Ahhhh yes, that’s right. I was correcting your legwork.” 

Brienne felt his presence at her back, then the heat of his chest against her spine. His breath tickling the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck and making her quiver. 

_What is he doing?_

She wasn’t left wondering for long, his stumped arm slipping unobtrusively around her waist, his movement so elegant, you would think it the most natural thing in the world, a gesture he had performed infinite times. 

His left fingertips skidded down her side, hand coming to rest on her thigh. Palm fitting flush to her curved leather breeches and gently gripping, tenderly urging her leg backwards to mirror the stance he suggested earlier. 

Her flesh and muscles tensed beneath the unfamiliar intimacy of his touch, the stillness spreading throughout her giant frame and fixing her in place like a statue. Her motionless response equally from surprise and fear he would let go. Head screaming how inappropriate this was, whilst her heart begged for him to hold her closer.

“You take liberties Ser…” Her purr was in direct contrast to the words she uttered, the tiny portion of her brain which could still think clearly congratulating her on teasing him in return. “…You are not _yet_ my husband.” 

“A minor technicality, nothing more. In a few hours, we will belong to each other.” Jaime’s voice buzzed against the shell of her ear and Brienne trembled, his lips almost grazing her when he smiled. “Who’s the idle one now?” 

Brienne wanted to protest but it was true, the tendons which had stiffened upon first contact were liquifying in his embrace, melting until she leant back into him - he a mould and she the clay. Sluggish and inactive, content to linger in Jaime’s arms. The novelty of his affections dizzying and unexpectedly welcome.

She slowly turned her head to peer at him over her shoulder, blue eyes inches from his beautifully sculpted face as he leant in, plump lips brushing against her waiting mouth. 

“Jaime…” The Maid of Tarth had no end to her statement. Only his name, without title - just as he had requested. A plea for him to pause, a plea for him to continue. Putting to voice the overwhelming emotions bubbling up inside her.

“Do you really want our first kiss to be in the Sept – on display for a crowd of gawkers? Or here, now… in the yard. The place where we are both at home. Lost in the moment and acting upon the irresistible pull we feel towards each other?” 

_He feels it too…_

Brienne could have sworn the pounding in her chest fell quiet for a moment, skipping its rhythm in the beauty of the unthinkable dream coming true. 

“I never said…” She hadn’t spoken her evolving affections aloud; she hadn’t told him she was falling for him. Yet somehow he knew…

“You feel the way I do Brienne,” Jaime hummed, velvet and immeasurable desire. “I know you do…”

She did the only thing which entered her head, leaning in and pressing her lips against his, hovering in place, an invitation for him to proceed. 

And Jaime accepted… covering her mouth with his, hand floating up to her face, fingertips guiding and encouraging her through her initial shy clumsiness. The first exquisite licks of his tongue seeking entrance startling and intoxicating, her lips parting in want and eagerness of his further exploration, extending the duration of this exquisite contact. 

Brienne murmured low and sonorous in her throat when he deepened the kiss, taking her to euphoric heights and awakening a new kind of fire within her. This blaze was different, removed from temper or conviction, situated in the very centre of her body. Beginning in her chest as an inferno and then burning lower… _lower…_


	11. Greed and Charity (BRIENNE V)

Attendants fussed, pulling and tugging at her hair, squeezing and strangling her in a corset in an attempt to emphasize her non-existent bust and cinch her thick waist. Filing her blunt, chipped nails and spraying her with a cloying perfume until she coughed. 

Brienne was aware that their tremendous efforts were striving to make her look less like herself, to pass her off with a very big push as someone who resembled a bride. Usually that knowledge would rankle her, darkening her mood until she grumbled with sufferance and inhibition. 

_Not this time. Today I am floating on air._

It was true. Mystifying, inconceivable and mind-blowing - but true. 

_We kissed. My first kiss… and it was wonderful._

_He approves of me, complements me, brings qualities to the table I lack, whilst still respecting my values. And above all else he cares – genuinely._

_I don’t know how it is possible, how all of these attributes could belong to the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister – a man I despised by reputation alone – but they do. He is not the person they painted him to be._

_It may have been only two days, but I have never felt surer about a man. Even without knowing the details of what happened that fateful day in the throne room, I am confident his reasons were honourable. If I was asked, I would vouch for his character._

“Lady Brienne…” An attendant hovered by the door, anxiety radiating off her in waves. “…the Queen is here to see you.” 

“No doubt I am aware what this is about.” Brienne took a deep breath. “It is alright, send her in-”

The words were barely out her mouth when Cersei burst through the door, indignant outrage searing through her green eyes. “How dare you return my gift!”

“Your Grace-” The Maid of Tarth began politely, shooing away her helpers with a gentle wave of her hand. Standing and ignoring the fact that she was dressed in her undergarments whilst the monarch was in her finery, her self-consciousness taking a back seat to the graveness of the situation. 

_I knew Cersei would take issue…_

“-I meant no disrespect or offence. As I mentioned in my note, I will be wearing my Mother’s jewels today-” Brienne gestured to a delicate pendant and bracelet, laid out upon her dresser in wait. “-the same set she wore on her wedding day. It is tradition and I feel a token of good fortune…”

“Those pitiful tiny things.” Cersei scoffed. “Sapphires so small they can barely be seen. You are aware what family you are marrying into? We have a certain standard we prefer to uphold. The set I sent to you this morning was far superior.” 

_Gaudy and excessive. Unnecessary expenditure which flaunts wealth and status, removing you from the plight of the small folk who form the backbone of our society. Making them resentful, fostering their well-justified hatred of you for spending frivolously on self-decoration and baubles whilst their children starve._

_Showy pretence divides, it never unites._

When the wooden, velvet lined box had arrived to her quarters at noon, the servant who made the delivery trumpeted the identity of the giver. His boisterous announcement leaving no doubt as to the origins of the ‘gift’. 

“From our beneficent, magnanimous Queen to her future good-sister - for Lady Brienne to wear upon her wedding day.”

Brienne had opened the lid as though the package may contain a venomous snake, grimacing when she looked upon the ornate four-piece set whilst her ladies ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed.’ 

The rubies in the necklet were larger than a pigeon’s egg, the shade of the gems perfectly matching the bird’s blood. The gold metalwork lavishly extravagant, the scrollwork settings encrusted with diamonds, their blinding sparkle visible from every angle. 

The overabundance and ostentation had left her feeling queasy. 

_The cost of such jewels could feed several orphanages for over a year or buy medicines for the ill and elderly._

Brienne gave Cersei a tolerant smile, trying her best to appease and refuse without seeming ungrateful. “I do not deny that the pieces were of the highest quality – you clearly have fine taste. But I could not possibly accept such an expensive present nor would I be able to wear the set – you will notice I do not have pierced ears. The earrings would go unworn if I were to keep your gift.” 

The Queen screwed up her nose, folding her slender arms over her bosom. “It would be an absolute waste on you… but I thought you needed all the help you could get.”

Her insides clenched, offence sparking anger within. 

_I do not need your charity, especially when it does not stem from a place of kindness nor generosity._

_This gesture was solely to make yourself look better, saving face after what Jaime said last night. A selfish act disguised as selflessness._

“All the more reason why you should keep them.” The Maid of Tarth’s gaze was icy but she kept her tone civil. “Thank you just the same.” 

Cersei shook her head, golden curls bouncing over her exposed shoulders. 

_Even her hair is spun gold - no wonder she weighs worth in power and values material possessions over people._

“Good luck to my brother. He is going to need it being saddled with a mulish beast like you.” 

Brienne heard her ladies gasp and tried not to smirk in satisfaction. 

_There are your true colours._

“If that will be all Your Grace – I must continue to prepare for the ceremony.” 

The silk of the Queen’s skirts rustled as she turned haughtily on her heel, striding from the room with her nose held high in misguided triumph, believing she got the last word in. 

_But I’m not wearing her trinkets, am I?_

_And she demonstrated to my ladies the true motivation behind her munificence. I count it as a victory on both fronts._

Returning to her chair, they had not long recommenced brushing the tangles from Brienne’s coarse blonde hair when a knock could be heard at the door, a maid scurrying to fetch it with head ducked low, fearful of incurring the wrath of whomever was on the other side. 

_Perhaps Cersei figured it out and is back for another round..._

But she could have been toppled by a feather in the breeze when Jaime sauntered into the room, trailed by the frantically protesting female servant. 

“Jaime!’ Brienne’s jaw dropped, her attendants scrambling to block her from view and gasping at her informal greeting. “I mean _Ser_ Jaime; you are not supposed to see me before the wedding!”

“It is alright,” he was mischief and nonconformism, strolling to stand only a few feet away from her and flicking his finger toward the hem of her long, white underslip. “My presence will not trample upon tradition - you aren’t wearing your gown yet.” 

“That may be the _precise_ point you are missing.” Folding her arms across her chest, she rose from her chair to a series of scandalised gasps, staring him straight in the eye. “I am in my undergarments. It’s indecent.” 

His mouth quirked up at the side, his audacious emeralds looking her up and down. A long drawn out process which made her feel as though the fabric were completely transparent.

“I daresay your leathers were more revealing.” Jaime declared. “I could see your shape. That is the equivalent of a smock a washer woman would wear, no need to cause a stir over it. I wish to talk.” He frowned at the wall of maids separating them. “In private, if we could.” 

Brienne sighed, gazing down at herself, taking in the chemise and the stiff fabric of her bindings, the complex systems of criss-crossed laces holding everything together. 

“Very well – I agree. Ladies, if you could please wait out in the hall.” 

The attendants chattered amongst themselves as they filed out, some overcome with shock and appal, others blushing and whispering; speculating reasons for Jaime's visit, the themes of which were either exceedingly romantic or exceptionally sordid. 

When they were gone, the Maid of Tarth raised her eyebrows at the lion standing in front of her. “So now I am unchaperoned with a man in my chambers…” She left the rest unsaid. 

_It is quite unorthodox and inappropriate._

Jaime just shrugged, pulling over a chair and perching himself upon its carved wooden arm instead of sitting upon it properly. “We were alone this morning as well… I’d say we are shutting the gate after the horse has bolted where that is concerned.” 

He chuckled at his own analogy. “Besides – I am the groom. If word got about that you were alone with a man, I would be the one they run to tell, and I can hardly object, seeming as the man was me.” Folding one booted leg over the other he settled in place, displaying little intention of being dissuaded. 

Brienne noticed that from the waist down he was dressed for their wedding, his breeches a rich golden silk, the leather of his knee-high boots spanking new and polished until it gleamed. 

But his top half was dishevelled, his chest covered by a creased, loose-fitting white tunic. Its cheaper linen fabric clashing with the grandeur of his breeches and hanging loose at the waist, rather than neatly tucked in. 

_He grabbed the first thing from his trunk and threw it over his head. Impulsive and determined. But why? Only one way I’ll find out…_

Smoothing her chemise beneath her, Brienne sank back into her chair. “You will be my Lord husband in a little over an hour, so I don’t suppose our current audience will destroy my reputation. Just don’t tell my Father, he will not approve and assume the worst. He still thinks poorly of you.” 

“Interesting that you should mention that.” Jaime leaned forward, expression turning serious. “That is part of why I’m here.” 

“Oh?” _This I did not foresee._ She remained silent, giving him the space to talk. 

“I was wondering why our marriage was brokered – I mean, I know the official story sold by the orchestrators, ‘an unmarriable, disgraced and widely hated Lord makes a match with a young woman doomed to spinsterhood with three broken engagements under her belt’ – but I’m wondering the particulars of the contract. I know our end of things, why my Father did it. But why did yours?” Jaime’s mouth drooped down at the corners. “Your Father loves you; anyone can see it. Why did he condemn you to a marriage with me?” 

_Honesty is always best…_

“Tarth has been ravaged in this neverending Summer, we have been hit by near constant tempests, the Stormlands living up to their name. The last one was devastating...” Brienne gulped, a lump forming in her throat even speaking about it. 

“…Up high in our stone castle walls, we were spared from the worst of it. We took in as many from the villages as we could to provide shelter during the storm – but many who did not make it to us lost their lives. When we emerged, most of the coastal townships were flattened. The sea rushed in, eroding sand and sweeping away homes, ships and livelihoods. Crops were destroyed in the surge, livestock killed. Buildings could not withstand the assault of wind and waves, leaving those who survived with nothing to return to and little hope.” 

She sniffled. “As their lieges we must care for them, provide what we can – and we have. But our funds and capabilities only extend so far. We have our export of marble – but the mines flooded. It took weeks and much man power to drain them, digging pipelines for the water to follow back to the sea and where that failed, bailing out bucket by bucket. Without marble we have nothing to sell, and our treasury hastily depletes. We have barely begun to rebuild and people are starving. Day by day more families move to the mainland and centuries of heritage is lost…”

Jaime nodded, understanding. “It’s for the money. The Lannisters have more wealth than they could ever spend...” 

He reached across with his left hand and gave hers a squeeze, letting his digits linger, draped sweetly over her own. Brienne liked it immensely, his skin feeling right against hers, the sight of her freckles meeting with his smooth skin calming the trauma of the retelling. 

“...I’m sorry for your people, what you have described is…soul crushing. I can’t imagine how so many will begin again. But it is the most noble of acts for the House of Tarth to give freely, expecting naught in return. Gods know my Father would never do that-” The lion angled his head to the ceiling, as though the invisible deities were watching them now. “-Which is why you are the price. A woman for me, heirs for his legacy. It’s diabolical really - that he would turn a tragedy to his advantage. I’m not surprised though.” 

“With what your family has agreed to provide, we can not only feed our people and rebuild - but expand. Stronger buildings, safe havens for when storms come, restart businesses. We can attract back those who have left and maybe even encourage new residents.” When she said it aloud it sounded somehow wrong – petitioning for more than just the base requirement, seeking to improve rather than replace. The confession ringing with an avarice neither she nor her Father had ever possessed. 

_It is for the right reasons though – for the smallfolk. For our people._

Brienne bit her lip nervously. “Why do you ask?” 

“Because today is our wedding day…” Jaime withdrew his hand, cupping it around his stumped wrist and fixing her with his verdant orbs. “…and I don’t want you to marry me if you really don’t want to. I will put a stop to the ceremony right here, right now if you ask me to. I will take the blame, deal with my Father and the fallout. All you have to do is tell me.” 

“Pardon?” She blinked, the colour draining from her face. 

_Where is this coming from?!_

_We kissed this morning! I am sitting here in my undergarments!_

Noticing her pallor, Jaime quickly elaborated. “Please don’t misunderstand… _I want you_ – I want to marry you. Do not think for one instant that I don’t. I just want you to make an informed choice, have a life which will make you happy instead of miserable. I don’t want my wife to have a heavy heart, at the altar, in my bed. Making the best of a bad situation because she felt she had no other option. If you marry me, it shouldn’t be about the money – which is why now that I know what Father is holding over your head, I can take away the ultimatum. As a Lord of Lannister myself, _I_ am going to declare you may have the funds. As much as you need. Whether we marry or not, I will give you what is required to rebuild a flourishing and thriving Tarth.” 

Brienne felt her jaw go slack; molten lava imbued with affection pumping outwards from her heart. “You would do that?” 

“Yes.” Jaime nodded. “Your people are innocents – they don’t deserve the cruel fate nature has inflicted upon them. Any more than you deserve to be tied to me…” A tangible gloom passed over his features and she had to fight the desire to offer him comfort, needing to hear what he was about to say. 

“…we have bonded, or so I believe. And even though I will be disappointed if you do not become my wife, I will understand. You Brienne of Tarth – are unique. Singular, incredible and worthy of so much. You are not property or a brood mare to be traded for gold, and I will not have you treated as such. Have the coin – with no strings attached – consider it done. And you can have me too…but only if you wish. I hope you say yes, however there will be no ill-feeling if you decline... I know I am unworthy of you.” 

Never had she felt more compelled to wrap her arms around another person. To cuddle his neck, press her lips to his pulse, make him feel cherished and appreciated. 

_I want him. This is my husband. This is my match. My mate._

“Jaime I…” 

He held his hand up gently. “Please Brienne don’t answer yet – I must tell you this first. I need you to know the man you’d be marrying, through and through. No secrets, full disclosure.” 

Jaime took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to divulge. “When I was about your age – a little younger – I had not long received my knighthood and upon a visit to King’s Landing, I was seduced by my twin sister. I am terribly ashamed of the incest now but I will not make excuses for myself. It is something that I did - I own it, I regret it and in hindsight it is just another sin upon my soul. Cersei is the one who convinced me to join the Kingsguard, telling me that she loved me, that we could be together if I followed her instructions, and I admit that I obliged her. At the time I would have denied her nothing, so I forewent my birthright and accepted the position in the sacred order. Little did I know that Father and Cersei both had high ambitions for her and we were soon separated. That would be the only time we lay together, behaving as man and woman rather than brother and sister. Never again have we sinned – though I am sure you have heard the rumours…” 

“I have.” She admitted. “I also heard you refute them to Tyrion.”

“Clever Wench, I thought you were distracted.” The lion bowed his head in deference, impressed. “Regardless, I want you to hear from the horse’s mouth that the accusations against me are false. I wouldn’t touch Cersei now; the idea repulses me.” 

“May I ask what changed?” Brienne ventured tentatively. “It is a drastic shift.” 

“I saw through her when I was at my lowest, when I lost my hand. When she heard the tale I am about to tell you and said nothing in my defence at my trial. When Cersei and my Father both let me take the fall and pay the price, so they could taste power.” 

_His trial…_ Unbidden her blue eyes widened. … _Aerys._

“Yes Brienne… Aerys Targaryen II. The Mad King – and he truly was. The worst of his kind. Deranged, sadistic, lacking empathy, more animal than human – though I have been around many a beast and never have I seen them delight in inflicting the torture and unimaginable cruelties that he did. Maybe to compare him to animals is a slight against the creatures we share the world with.” He sighed. 

“I know I am rambling, avoiding saying what I need to – I haven’t spoken about it for so long… but I can still see it, smell it, taste it.” Jaime shuddered, his eyes flooding with tears, the lump in this throat bobbing as he swallowed. Now it was her turn to reach for him. 

“If it is too difficult –” Choosing carefully, it was his stumped wrist she decided to clasp, showing him again how she was not off-put by the scarred flesh. “-you do not have to tell me. I believe in your character. I know – whatever your reason – it would have been just.” 

“No, that will not do.” He swung his head wildly from side to side. “I have to get the words out; I will not keep this knowledge from you. These are the skeleton’s locked up in the dungeon of my soul, the ghosts that try to drag me to the Seven Hells in my bed at night. You must know, if we are to be real. If you are to ever think of lov-” Jaime halted, humiliation flooding his face as he realised what he almost said. 

_If I am to ever think of loving him… He wants me to love me._

Running her thumb along his scarline, Brienne smiled. “What details you need to share – I will hear. But likewise, whatever specifics are too painful know…” Now it was her turn to blush, clearing her throat. “…I do not believe your withholding of the information would prove a hindrance in obtaining what you desire.” 

_Do you understand what I just said Jaime? I am falling for you…falling hard._

Comprehending, his mouth twitched upwards on one side, the sparkle in his eyes amplified by their watery quality. “I still want to confide in you, entrust you with my secrets.” 

“Then that is your decision and I respect it.”

“Some of it may be disturbing to a young Lady’s ears.”

“I think you and I both know I am made of tough mettle. I would rather the unvarnished, brutal truth than a prettified version.”

“Very well.” Brienne could feel his stump begin to tremble in her palm and she brought her second hand up beneath it, reinforcing her hold. Becoming his anchor as he collected himself and began…

“The King was obsessed with fire – it was not just fascination, it was an addiction, a craving, a way of life. Aerys burnt people alive for even the most minor offences, he watched the flames consume their body, became enlivened by their screams, it seemed…” He gave her a guilty glance and she knew something terrible was about to be said. “…it seemed to arouse him.” 

Brienne slammed her eyes shut as her brain began to process the horror of the thought, nodding at Jaime to continue. 

“The Kingsguard as an institution appears so aspirational and upstanding – but in truth the system is inherently flawed. Our job was to ‘guard the king’ without question or interference, but it seems they want you to abandon your soul when you take the vows. I was constantly lectured by the Lord Commander and my sworn brothers - I suppose I am rebellious, because I just didn’t understand. How they could enable him, protect him whilst atrocities were taking place. They reprimanded me when I wanted to defend the Queen, forced me to stand outside helpless whilst she was raped. Ser Gerold told me not to judge when Lord Rickard Stark was cooked inside his armour, whilst his son Brandon strangled himself to death trying to save his Father...” 

_Aerys warranted far worse than the end Jaime gave him._

“...Are you alright?” 

Blinking her azure orbs open, Brienne rubbed his stump reassuringly. “I can handle it, although it is confronting - and I am only hearing a recount. Jaime you lived this nightmare…”

“Every day. Until the Sack of King’s Landing.” To her surprise he sat up a little straighter, a hint of self-assurance entering his tone. 

_He is ashamed of not acting sooner, of letting those aforementioned crimes take place under his nose – even if he was just a boy trying to listen to his superiors – that shows his conscience._

_But it was at the Sack of King’s Landing when he ended Aerys’ reign of tyranny and even though he has been judged harshly – he still takes pride in the act._

It made her eager for the rest of the tale. 

“When you are guarding the King, you overhear things. Conversations, machinations. You are supposed to turn a deaf ear. But it is hard to ignore when a sadist is conversing with a lunatic – or rather when a Pyromancer who is also Hand of the King is plotting with a monarch. They had a contingency plan you see, involving wildfire. Are you familiar with the substance?” 

“Yes.” Brienne nodded. “My Maester included it in my studies. It is an abhorrent concoction.”

“Indeed – and they placed hidden caches of it all over the city. Enough to cause annihilation, enough to kill every man, woman and child – should the King lose.” 

“No…” She shook her head in disbelief. “...that is heinous.”

“But true. Aerys thought he would rise again as a dragon, that he would be immune. I was the last remaining Kingsguard in the Keep at the time, so he summoned me along with Rossart when he knew all was lost. He had been using me as leverage against my Father – not that it gave Father any pause when he raided the city.” Jaime snorted ruefully and her heart bled for him. 

“Aerys demanded that I bring him my Father’s head or I’d _‘burn with the rest’_ , and he commanded his Pyromancer to begin the conflagration, igniting the caches of wildfire and burning the city to the ground _. ‘I’ll give them naught but ashes. Let Robert be King over charred bones and cooked meat. Burn them all.’_ ”

“That is despicable.”

“It is…So I chased down Rossart first and slew him before he could follow his orders. Then I came for the King. The rest is well-known.” He studied her face, searching. For approval or disapprobation. “Henceforth I have been the Kingslayer. It is passing odd that I am reviled by many for my finest act, but nevertheless, I was dismissed from the Kingsguard, trialled for regicide and paid with my hand.” 

“Jaime…who else knows? You mentioned before your Father and your sister…”

“Yes, I told them. I foolishly thought they would speak for me. But Father has never forgiven me for joining the Kingsguard in the first place and Cersei had her eyes on a crown. Other than them, I have only confided in Tyrion and that was many years later, when he was old enough to handle the knowledge.” 

Brienne knew it was history, unable to be changed, but she was despairing at the idea. Of a young man who had just saved thousands of innocent lives being betrayed by his own kin, held down as they amputated his hand in cold blood, under the censorious stares of a watching public. “Lord Stark found you…”

“Eddard Stark judged me the second he saw me, sword dripping with blood across my knees and a dead King lying on the steps. He wasn’t interested in my feeble excuses. I could see it. He was on the Council who passed my sentence…” 

Jaime gulped, eyeing her warily. “…And now you know. Everything. My trust and tattered honour are in your hands – to weigh and act in accordance with what you believe is right. To decide if in your eyes my vows should have been absolute, if I was wrong, if I am beyond redemption and pardon. You are the judge I appeal to now, the only person whose opinion matters to me.” Taking his wrist from her fingers, he made to push himself off the arm of the chair. “I will give you space to think about it…”

“No!” Brienne leapt from her seat, barrelling into him, arms folding around his neck just as she had wanted earlier. 

He gave a grunt of surprise, lowering himself back down, his hand sliding around her mid-section as she stood astride his lap, her long legs easily reaching the floor. “I do not condemn you Jaime. Not for the incest – Cersei used you and abused you. And not for slaying the King.” 

Her large hand crept frontward, fingertips brushing the golden bristles of his beard. “I think it the greatest tragedy that the world does not know the real you – a kind, selfless Knight. Who spared many at the sacrifice of his own name and future…” Leaning down she softly pressed her mouth to his. “…And I would be proud to become your wife today.” 

“Brienne-” Her name was a heavy whisper on his lips, filled with relief and appreciation. Burying his face in the crook of her neck, his voice muffled by her skin. “-I will be good to you, I swear it.” 

“I know.” Combing fingers through his blonde mane she tried not to giggle as Jaime’s nose nuzzled in. His happiness bursting forth like the spray of the breakers when they crashed upon the rocks, his incessant need for chatter returning energetically with plans and prospects... 

“If you prefer – we will stay here after we are wed. Oversee the rebuilding, help where we can – financially, physically, listening to the people. I would like that. Honest work, earning back respect.” 

“I would adore that too.” It was nearly too beautiful to be true. 

_It’s like he knows me, reads my soul. I didn’t want to leave Father yet, I wanted to remain on Tarth, help our citizens._

His lips began to move again, but this time he wasn’t talking. Pressing wet kisses to her throat, sucks and nips which made a reckless moan rip from her mouth. 

“Jaime… Jaime… your beard will leave grazes.” Her protests were weak in volume but sound in logic. “It will show in my wedding gown.” 

“You’re right.” He pulled away with a wicked grin. “Then they will know we were doing exactly what they thought we were doing.” 

“Not _‘exactly.’_ ” Brienne blushed profusely, mumbling. “That will come later. _Much_ later…”

“Well then - best not delay any longer.” They both stood, Jaime’s grin enduring whilst he bowed graciously. “See you at the altar My Lady.” 

“At the altar.” She agreed, offering a bow of her own. “Until then My Lord.”


	12. Greed and Charity (JAIME V)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the previous chapter was a contender for 'longest in this fic' - this chapter is the shortest.  
> We are headed into the home stretch now folks - I can't believe how quickly this fun week is flying by.

_Never enough._

Tyrion prattled, pouring anew, making bawdy jokes and toasting the end of his elder brother’s singledom - but Jaime’s chalice went untouched. Wine wasn’t his craving – she was. 

_Brienne of Tarth._

Their earlier kiss consumed his thoughts, making him hungry, greedy for more. If he had stood there all day, he still wouldn’t have had his fill. The feelings she produced within him muddying want and need into a single gnawing entity. 

_Give me more – a moment, an hour, a lifetime. So, I can feed off that energy, flourish in her company. She will make an insatiable man out of me, fuelled by longing for her._

“Jaime? I daresay you haven’t heard a word I said…”

“Guilty.” Out of habit, the lion wiped his perspiration dotted palm against his breeches then winced at the resulting damp mark, rising from his seat to pace. 

He was already half-dressed for their wedding – warned against staining the precious fabric of his pants or scuffing his top-line boots.

“What’s wrong?” Tyrion angled his head to the side, ever astute. “Is it just pre-wedding jitters? Though I have seen you ride headlong into battles with less agitation - which leads me to believe it is something greater than general nerves.”

“I have feelings for my future wife.” Jaime declared, the new leather of his footwear creaking more than the floorboards whilst he trod the same stretch before the hearth. 

“I’m confused… Isn’t that considered a positive when entering matrimony?”

“Yes – but when you chose the match yourself. Not when it was arranged by controlling, vicious people and neither of us had any say in the matter.” He wheeled around to face his brother. “She didn’t choose me Tyrion! Not like Tysha chose you. Brienne is being coerced into marrying me - they must hold some leverage over Lord Selwyn or an incentive at least.” 

“Ahhhh…And with your newfound affection for the girl you would prefer her volitional consent.” His younger sibling nodded knowingly, “So, what are you going to do about it?” 

“I’m going to tell her.” In that moment, Jaime made up his mind, bustling over to his clothes chest and yanking out the first folded shirt he spied. 

Tyrion furrowed his brow in confusion. “Tell her what exactly?”

“Everything. Come clean in its entirety. And I will ask her what my Father has over them, remove it if I can. That way she can make an informed decision without external influence.” 

Throwing the shirt over his head, in three long determined strides he was at the door. 

“Jaime-” He halted at the concern in his younger brother’s voice, his hand poised on the knob, ready to turn. “-just realise if you do this – you could lose her.” 

“I know.” Jaime replied sadly. “But I don’t want her under duress. I already care about her too much for that.” 

“Then I wish you all the best – I mean it. She might not know it, but she would be a lucky woman to have you Jaime.” 

All he could do was offer a slight smile in thanks as he departed, about to make either the biggest mistake or greatest triumph of his life. 

[][][][][][][][]

The Sept was decked in finery, opulence displaying the wealth and might of House Lannister in full force. No expense had been spared, the extravagance eye-watering. From the imported flowers bound by silken ribbons, to the gilded candlesticks and genuine gold thread throughout the brocade of his doublet. All was opulent, reeking of rapacity. 

But even surrounded by the grandest trimmings money could buy, Jaime could not take his captivated gaze off his bride. 

The white of Brienne’s dress made her eyes look enormous and impossibly bluer. Their depth reminiscent of the ocean in the sunshine, calm, beautiful and neverending. 

Saying their vows, her voice had quavered, but he had held fast to her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles and soothing her as she had done earlier for him.

_We make quite the team._

Jaime had mouthed the words along with her, helping her to feel confident. 

She had gripped one corner of the cloak when he draped it around her shoulders, assisting him to fasten it in place one-handed. 

_Brienne is so compassionate. Charitable and benevolent. I could not ask for a sweeter or more tender-hearted woman to be my wife._

_And now I get to call her mine._

His smile was radiant, hers shy but beatific, large teeth raking her bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth in preparation for what was to come. 

_Already she’s learning._

The thought broadened his grin until it beamed. 

“With this kiss, I pledge my love.”

Jaime brought his lips to hers, stretching taller as she bent slightly at the knees, bringing them to equal height. Both working together to spare embarrassment, thinking ahead and intuitively protecting each other from any potential scorn. 

The kiss was chaste – appropriate for the Sept – but still it sent the same greed coursing through him. He may be a Lannister by birth, but he would never chase money nor status. The only thing he would ever desire, yearn for, live for – would be his woman. 

_Give me more of her, for now, for forever, until the end of time._

_My wife, my love, my Brienne._


	13. Gluttony and Temperance (BRIENNE VI)

The festivities after the ceremony were a jubilant affair, tables laden with fare and alcohol poured more generously than if it were water. 

The servers heaped more upon the King’s plate than he could ever finish, eager to seem generous to His Grace. Morsels tumbled to the ground as they walked, only to be kicked aside by mingling feet. Pitchers of wine sloshed messily over the brims, onto the floorboards, and she had lost count of how many goblets full of expensive vintages the royals had ingested before the food had even been served. 

It took all the self-restraint within Brienne not to let her disapproval outwardly manifest on her expression. If she had been asked, the precious resources would never have been wasted on such a grand reception. 

_But who am I to be consulted? Only the bride. No one of importance in the grand scheme of this production._

She would have been content with a simple affair, to sit at the main table surrounded by the joyous faces of the few who genuinely wished them well. 

In the intimate setting Brienne could have exchanged private smiles with her new husband, trying her utmost to leave appropriate intervals between the multitude of times she leant over and kissed his chiselled cheek. 

_That option is still available...if I choose to seize it._

Brienne gave herself a reminder to hearten her spirits, though she knew her timidity would ultimately prevail in the populous setting. 

_Maintaining decorum and keeping ourselves safe from criticism seems the wisest option._

_I would love to kiss him though…_

She furtively scanned the room, disappointed to always find at least a dozen sets of eyes scrutinizing them like a sideshow. 

The cripple and the beast, the Kingslayer and the freak. 

They were a curiosity to the onlookers, the main attraction of this event. But the double standards could only make her frown. 

_How can they critique us when there is such gluttony in the room? Save your odium for those who deserve it and leave my husband and I in peace._

It was difficult not to bristle at the injustice of it all. How they sat under the magnifying glass whilst the others enjoyed _their_ wedding. Brienne watched the revellers with pursed lips, taking in their unconstrained gaiety, relief the pervading emotion in the atmosphere. 

_Anyone would think they’d slipped the noose…and in Cersei’s case perhaps she has._

The liberated Queen flirted openly, coyly batting her eyelashes and taking full advantage of her husband’s drunken state. The King was busy finishing off his third helping (thus proving her theory that he couldn’t finish the food incorrect – though how he had not exploded from his doublet Brienne could not comprehend), and wine pouring from the sides of his mouth as he guzzled and pinched the backsides of poor unsuspecting serving girls. 

Cersei herself was quite inebriated, each step swaying slightly until she caught herself upon the arm of the Knight she was undoubtedly duping, giggling in the charming way only a beautiful woman could and calling him her saviour. 

If Brienne was being honest – the whole scene disgusted her. 

“It’s best not to watch.” Jaime’s tenor was close to her ear and it made a tiny jolt crackle down her neck. A localised charge felt only by her nerve endings, the frisson vibrating and descending along the vertebrae of her spine. She the conductor to his sparks. “The inequity of it all can only aggravate.” 

“I cannot help it.” Brienne confessed, deliberately shifting her chair closer to his. “We are reproached at every turn, studied more keenly than a specimen at the Citadel – yet their behaviour goes unchecked.” She shook her head sadly. “I could never eat more than my share when I know there are smallfolk children going hungry tonight in the back alleys. I would never lose my level-head and drink in excess, until I made a blathering fool of myself – let alone in front of my Father – it would bring shame to him.” 

Jaime slipped his hand beneath the table, reaching blindly until he found hers. Their fingers happily lacing together, fortifying and supporting each other while she spoke on. 

“And most importantly of all - the way your sister plays up to men is unthinkable to me. She is a married woman and yet she trifles, offering them little suggestive touches right under her husband’s nose…”

“Cersei has done worse than ‘little touches.’” Jaime’s own nose bumped her temple as he brought himself close, ensuring they couldn’t be overheard. “Why do you think everyone is so damn pleased? I hate to break it to you Wench, but they are not celebrating our happiness.” He chuckled, kissing her quickly. Withdrawing with a wink that said ‘mission accomplished’, revealing that his discretion was just a pretence bringing him near enough to be demonstrative. “Though I am pleased to hear your preference towards fidelity – you will find my values exactly the same.” 

“With each passing hour I can only conclude that we are well suited My Lord.” Brienne grinned slyly. “Mayhaps they got something right in pairing us?” 

“Surely by mischance – though I will thank the Gods for my good fortune just the same.” 

“Me too.” She glanced at the table and her untouched goblet. “And I would toast to our serendipity – only I don’t drink alcohol.”

Quicker than a breeze he surged forward, planting another feather-light kiss in the centre of her forehead. This time a blush engulfed her cheeks. “Jaime…please…self-discipline. They are watching…” 

“Then we may as well give them a good show.” Alighting from his chair, he gave a grandiose bow, repositioning their joined hands and extending them out before him with a flourish, pressing his lips to the back of hers dramatically. “Now if you’ll excuse me my wife. Although it pains me to be apart from you on this day – I must speak with someone in charge of this feast. Ensure that the leftovers are taken to the smallfolk and dispersed accordingly.” 

_You are indeed my White Knight._

Her delighted smile said it all as he wandered off, its breadth making her cheeks ache, yet still the tug was unyielding. 

_I will thank him later, when we are alone. Oh Gods… later._

Eying the full goblet before her, the temptation to take a swig was higher than ever when she recollected the bedding which lay ahead. 

_No. I will not waver. I do not need a crutch. Especially not to give myself to my husband – I am nervous but the thought of consummating with him is not terrible…_

Affections were a fascinating facet of the human psyche, how they could alter her view of the same scenario, painting it in a different light. The concept of going to bed with any of her previous suitors had made her despair, provided the urgency behind the swings of her Morningstar. 

_But Jaime has my heart – it is only natural my body should follow._

_Wait…did I just…_

Brienne blinked. She had. 

The thought was there, coming as easily to her as night followed day. Natural and matter-of-fact, as though it had always been so and she just hadn’t acknowledged it. The part of her chest previously sealed off, unlocked and cast into sunlight. 

_He has my heart. I love him._

_How can that be after only two days?_

The rightness of it was almost unsettling, the fit more accurate than combat armour. As if they were always meant for each other and had just been waiting to cross paths, for the time and conditions to be ripe. 

_I am not a woman to tumble head over heels. I am not fanciful and capricious. I know this is different – and I have never felt this way before._

Analysing and comparing, she searched the crowd for Renly. Her eyes coming to rest upon their Stormlands liege Lord, chatting merrily with her Father. 

_There was a time when I thought myself quite enamoured with Renly._

_There was a moment when I had stupidly hoped Father’s request for Lord Renly to help find me a match would result in him submitting his own proposal._

_Then he bound me with the Kingslayer, and my fondness for him swiftly dissipated._

Brienne could almost chuckle at the way it had all unfolded.

_Now I should thank Lord Renly – for all the juvenile flutters of infatuation I felt for him pale into oblivion when compared to the lightning bolt of my feelings for Jaime. The intensity of which is blinding, dazzling, electrifying. Unexpected, dreamlike - but incredibly real._

From an unseen corner of the room, the background melody began to swell. The musicians previously providing a soft accompaniment to their meal increasing the tempo and volume, signalling the commencement of dancing. On cue, people scuttled from the centre of room, clearing space whilst couples swarmed in, occupying the vacancies until there were barely gaps left to move. 

Closing her eyes, Brienne tuned into the song, placing the melody and mentally singing along. Her memory familiar with every word, lilt and refrain. 

_Lannisters may know riches and jewels - but the Tarth household has always welcomed singers. Father knew the best to summon for my wedding…_

It flooded her with warmth as her lids retreated, pupils darting left and right, seeking a glimpse of her husband’s blonde curls, his crimson and gold attire. 

_Scarcely two days ago, the waltzes would have filled me with trepidation. The curse of the wallflower leaving me wilting in a corner, knowing I could not count upon Lord Renly’s kindness twice._

_But now all has changed, and I desperately want my husband’s arms. To be held by Jaime on the occasion of our wedding, obscured from view by a thicket of bodies. A moment that is ours in a sea of pretension._

_I wonder if he will ask me to dance? I long for it, but am not audacious enough to make the suggestion myself – what if he is not disposed to the idea? We certainly have never discussed it; we still have so much more to learn about each other._

She located Jaime to the right of the dancefloor, his father and sister engaging him in conversation. Brienne watched how he sidestepped, trying to escape, only to be cut off by an insistent Cersei. His green marbles finding her over his twin’s shoulder, as readable as a book upon the shelf. 

_He wants to get away._

Her smile was sympathy and reassurance, lending Jaime her strength from across the expanse of the room. Wondering if the glint within her own gaze hinted at her epiphany, if it conveyed the love she felt for him, her silent longing for his touch. 

Brienne jumped slightly when he suddenly turned on his heel, abruptly ending the discussion and leaving Cersei gaping. Making a beeline for where she sat at the main table, his grin cocky and gallant. 

“Come on, my Sweetling, the music’s still playing…” Jaime crooned, boldly presenting his stumped right arm in place of his hand. His confidence making her swoon and giggle despite priding herself on maintaining a sensible persona. “…might I have this dance My Lady?” 

“Yes...” Slowly and purposefully, Brienne took his stump in her hand, skin prickling under the shocked stares of those around them. The mouths of their audience gaping and flapping like fish on dry land, scandalised by the fact that she would gladly hold his maimed wrist. “...It is as if you read my mind.” 

“'One heart, one flesh, one soul’ - remember?” He winked saucily. “May as well add ‘one mind’ to the equation.” 

“I do not know how far we are supposed to get with only one brain shared between us.” Brienne scoffed in amusement, “But I am pleased we understand each other my husband.” 

Jaime linked his arm proudly through hers, and she made a point of stroking the scarline beneath his cuff, reaffirming that all parts of him were worthy of love. 

_I nearly thought it myth..._ Brienne radiated euphoria as he lead her to the centre of the floor. … _but romance does indeed exist._


	14. Gluttony and Temperance (JAIME VI)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A trigger warning here folks, for a mention of non-con (it's brief, Tywin being awful and a reference to something that happened in canon), but I thought I would forewarn just in case. The rest is a fluff parade! LOL

“So, she went through with it!” Tyrion was all teeth, raising his goblet high in a pillory of a toast. “Your Lady must be rather fond of you after all…” He nudged Jaime playfully whilst the lion studied the solid gold buttons upon his doublet, suddenly bashful and comprehending how Brienne could be made to blush so easily. 

_I’ve never had one of these talks. I’ve never been the type to woo and beguile. My brother knows my weak point and now he is jabbing at it._

“Mayhaps it goes a little further than like…for both of us.” He took a hasty swig from his goblet to hide his face, watching in the peripherals of his vision as Tyrion’s jaw dropped, eyes bulging out of his head. “…but we are married now, so plenty of time for all that.”

Jaime knew he was being a tease, dangling titbits of information before his ever-curious younger sibling, knowing he would latch onto the bait and refuse to let it go. 

“Hold on! Back up-” Tyrion raised his hands in front of him, splaying the fingers which weren’t holding the stem of his goblet. “-you are not going to make that implication and then leave me hanging in suspense. You said ‘both of us.’ Now, Lady Brienne’s choice to proceed with your nuptials proves her regard, but earlier you told me you held feelings for the girl and now you are hinting at even more…” 

“Yes.” He confirmed. “You are correct on all counts.” 

“Jaime, speak frankly, you are known for it – what are you saying?” 

Taking a deep lungful of air, the Lord of Lannister met his younger brother’s enrapt stare. “I love her.” Jaime felt the release of voicing aloud his affections unfettering his heart. The chains and cages which had weighed him down, falling away with his confession. “I don’t know how it has come to be, after only two short days. I do not understand but I will not question, nor look a gift horse in the mouth.” 

_It is genuine. Brienne knows my crimes and yet embraces me. She eliminates the unworthiness which has dogged my steps for years, frightens the shadows of my past away with her brilliant light._

“I love her.” He repeated it, liking the words on his tongue. “I love my wife.” 

“Then congratulations are definitely in order!” Tyrion whooped, motioning for a server to refill their glasses. 

“No-” Jaime shook his head, placing the cup upon the table. “-Thank you Tyrion, but I will decline. I am keen to return to my bride. I miss her company and do not wish to leave her sitting alone. Besides, I am eager to report my success in the kitchens, all food which is not consumed here is to be taken to the needy.”

“Very philanthropic.” Tyrion tilted his cup in approval. 

“My wife and I hold common views on helping the smallfolk. As Lannisters we have so much, it is only fitting that we give back. Besides – I want everyone far and wide to rejoice our union, I know I certainly intend basking in it.” 

“Especially later…” His little brother waggled his eyebrows impishly and Jaime shook his head, chuckling. 

“And on that note, if you’ll excuse me.” 

Jaime was winding this way through the throngs when he heard Tyrion holler. “Go get her!” 

_He is incorrigible._

Negotiating the crowded ballroom was painstaking, an obstacle course with the threat of near constant collision with overflowing chalices. 

_Imagine how ill they would think of me if I accidentally knocked a cup of red wine, sending it spilling down one of the ladies’ fine gowns. They already despise me - but then they would be fit to kill._

He couldn’t help but note their overembellished dresses, bedecked with trimmings and jewels. Flashy and drawing attention to themselves with little consideration for the bride, never stopping to think it was supposed to be her day in the sun. 

By contrast Brienne’s bridal attire was understated and demure, the kind of gown the rich women would scoff at and his sister would mock loudly amongst her gaggle of fawners. But to Jaime it was perfect, a reflection of her personality; pure, sweet and winsome. 

Brienne had caught him gazing at her whilst they waited to enter the reception hall, her large frame squirming uncomfortably beneath his admiration until she had enquired with concern. “What are you gawking at? Am I too homely?”

“You are perfect.” He had pecked her lips. “I think you look beautiful.” 

“Hardly.” She demurred blushing. “But I thank you for your kindness just the same.” 

_She doesn’t believe me – but to me it is true. Even if it would not be the observation upheld by the masses, in my eyes Brienne is a beauty._

_She is a vision of loveliness just by being the way she is, and who she is._

_Enchanting and honest – unadorned and unpretentious._

_And most importantly, she is mine. My Brienne. My beauty. _

From that point forward, he had avowed to himself that teasing was off-limits for the day. Employing self-restraint to bite his tongue and not make any japes which she could misconstrue as criticisms. 

Throughout the rest of their wedding he would employ only chivalry, letting his maiden know his regard through compliments and gestures, rather than his backwards manner of goading and poking at her. 

_I will not stoke the flames of her inhibition, Brienne needs to know she is loved, appreciated._

_Though I daresay she enjoyed verbally sparring with me this morning…_

That fact alone set his body humming, the mere thought of them bickering and crossing swords by day, only to set aside their banter to whisper sentiments across their pillows when they retired in the night. 

_Life with Brienne – it sounds so sublime I can hardly wait._

An unseen conductor woke up the orchestra, their sleepy overture transforming into the dominant sound in the room. A singer joined their voice to the melody, heralding the beginning of the dancing and prompting his feet to move faster towards where he knew his bride awaited. 

_I must dance with Brienne. Fuck the critics. They can watch from the sidelines and mutter amongst themselves like the cowards that they are. If I do not wrap my arms around my new wife and sway with her during our wedding, I will regret it for the rest of my days._

His distraction was his downfall, for Jaime did crash into two figures, cringing as he bounced off them harmlessly, glad they weren’t carrying anything breakable. 

_But why didn’t the lackwits move out of my way? Why must I always be the mindful one…_

Jaime lifted his head, ready to offer quick apologies and be on his way, but his spirits plummeted when he placed their faces, realising why the individuals involved didn’t move. 

His Father and Cersei blocked his path, the former glowering at him in disgust, the latter crossing her arms over her chest. 

“In a hurry brother?” She raised a manicured eyebrow. “There would want to be a valid reason you nearly toppled your Queen.”

“Obviously I didn’t anticipate she would be blocking my path.”

“That was irresponsible of you Jaime.” Lord Tywin tutted, shaking his head. “Barrelling across a ballroom as though it were a tourney run.” 

Jaime sighed. _They must have had a reason for ambushing me. Please may it be brief._

“I do apologise and assure you both the collision was entirely unintentional.” He heard the double entendre in his statement and briefly wondered if he should have included his snide tendencies in his resolution about watching his words. 

_But extenuating circumstances call for exceptions to every rule – snark can be used in this instance, but only in moderation._

Jaime forced a fake smile onto his face. “To what do I owe the pleasure? An audience with one of you is generally rare, so the two at once is quite the treat.” 

_Moderation, moderation – MODERATION!_

His brain screamed timely reminders whilst he acknowledged he was already failing miserably. 

“Are we not entitled to a few minutes of your time on such an auspicious day?” Tywin’s gold flecked green eyes were supercilious slits. 

“Of course, Father.” 

_Better. Contrition and appeasing will get you out of this far faster than your hinged tongue will._

“Rightfully so.” His sire stood straight and rigid, the firelight glinting from his bald scalp. “I have come to speak to you about the importance of your bedding being successful. I am aware you possess a certain…” Jaime could see the cogs turning inside Tywin’s head as he struggled to find a term that wouldn’t offend. 

“Weakness?” Cersei volunteered. 

“Empathy-” Lord Tywin’s distaste for the word and concept was palpable. “-especially when it comes to less than pleasant tasks. You must acknowledge, accept and overcome the fact that your wife may be unwilling to fulfil her conjugal duties this evening. But it is _your_ duty to see that the marriage is consummated. The deal and union are not finalised until your wife is deflowered with a possible heir conceived. You _will not_ flounder Jaime, allowing yourself to be swayed by tears or objections. This is your responsibility and it will be accomplished. In some cultures, the act itself is spectated by the gathered court to ensure success, I would hope such measures do not need to be taken here…”

_Don’t you fucking dare._

The entire line of conversation had tied his stomach in knots, the barbaric implication making his skin crawl. 

“That will NOT be necessary.” Jaime all but growled. “ _Both_ my wife and myself know what is expected of us. There will be no cause for concern.” 

Tywin nodded once in satisfaction. 

“But likewise, you must respect me Father and _my_ way of doing things. I will not be threatened with public viewings nor condescended for valuing consent and being considerate. With this in mind, I declare that there will be no bedding ceremony.”

“It is tradition…”

“It will be detrimental to your ultimate goal.” Jaime stared his Father down with piercing determination. “Which is more important – a gratuitous ritual or making this marriage contract binding?”

Tywin’s nostrils flared slightly, but Jaime could also see a tinge of newfound approbation behind the older lion’s impassive glare. “Fine.” He announced. “No bedding ceremony. I will intervene if any attempts are made to begin the ritual, but I would suggest to avoid a potentially offensive or embarrassing situation, you whisk your wife away before the topic can be raised.” 

“I intended to anyway.” Jaime assured. “I think I can speak for both my new wife and myself when I state that neither of us has any desire to participate in such a ribald parade.”

“In truth I do not agree with it either…” Tywin revealed through clenched teeth, his expression distant, retreating into the recesses of his memory. Jaime cocked his head to the side, waiting patiently for him to continue. Intrigued by this brief glimmer of the man beneath the impenetrable wall of stone that formed his Father. “…some are opportunistic, take liberties to which they are not entitled.” 

_Aerys._ He had heard rumours. Whispers about the Mad King’s actions during the bedding ceremony of Tywin and Joanna. _It is said he took things too far with Mother._

“I am glad we see eye to eye on this.” Jaime inclined his head in thanks, only to be vexed again by Cersei’s hiccupping guffaw. 

“More like he doesn’t want to see the ugly cow naked – I imagine it wouldn’t inspire arousal.” She shook with drunken giggles, thinking herself quite comical. “Be sure to douse the candles brother and employ imagination.” 

“Thank you for the advice sweet-sister, as it so happens, I have had practice doing just that. I once bedded a whore at an Inn down Eel-Alley. It felt so wrong I had to go away inside and make believe she was another.”

The hilarity vanished from Cersei’s face as she registered he was speaking about her. 

_Yes twin, incest didn’t come as naturally to me as it did to you._

Smiling obliquely, Jaime glimpsed his window to escape. “I must be going, as you can hear the orchestra has commenced and I think it only appropriate that I dance with my bride.” 

Darting to the side, he had not gone one step when Cersei slid in front of him, obstructing his exit and hell bent upon vengeance for his jibe. “Are you a complete fool? To dance requires grace and precision. You have only one-hand – you will make a bumbling imbecile out of yourself. Grasping and fumbling with that unsightly stump. Pray tell, what is your wife supposed to hold onto? Hmmmm…?” 

He wasn’t listening, his verdant gaze locking onto Brienne’s across the room. Her calm azure lakes his harbour in the roiling ocean of Cersei’s taunts, the mere sight of them making his chest swell with affection. 

_Secrets between us my wife, you know what I’m thinking. How I want to return to your side but am impeded at every turn…_

“… It’s preposterous! Seriously Jaime, you must be a glutton for punishment-” 

“I suppose I am.” Without further word he shouldered straight past his ranting sister, taking pleasure out of knowing how his disinterest would incense the Queen he flippantly left behind. 

_In so many ways she is left in my dust. She matters as little to me as the sod which flies behind my horse’s hooves._

_All I care about is Brienne and the destiny we will forge together._

Jaime beamed as he drew nearer, carefree and invested in the moment. The guests disappearing, his focus trained solely upon his wife. 

“Come on, my Sweetling, the music’s still playing…” He theatrically bowed, offering Brienne his stump. Leading the way with his bravado, demonstrating how he trusted her not to reject him. “…might I have this dance My Lady?” 

“Yes.” The sensation of her calloused fingers tenderly cupping his stump was enough to made his head swim, her joyful acceptance the second time today she had imbued his existence with meaning and felicity. 

[][][][][][][][][][][]

“We can’t slow dance to this.” Brienne’s nose was inches from his and he was submerged in her guileless magnificence. Adoring the squeeze of her long arms draped around his neck and shoulders, strong enough to crush him but gentle enough to choose cuddling instead. 

_My Maiden Fair._

Chortling quietly, he listened to the familiar refrains about a bear and his lady love, absentmindedly humming along before announcing.

“I don’t see why not? It is quite romantic if you listen to the lyrics.” 

“Jaime –” He loved how when she grinned it was so genuine and radiant the sun seemed dim by comparison, how she stubbornly looked away from him to regain control whenever a bark of laughter threatened to compromise her poise. “- they are singing about a bear abducting an innocent young woman from a fair. It is hardly an exemplary tale.”

“Yes, but by the end she is quite taken with him - listen…” He tilted his ear towards the players and Brienne followed suit. “…it sounds quite like us Wench.” 

“You are not a bear.” She grumbled. “If anyone was to be the bear – it would be me.” 

Remembering his voluntary oath of temperance, he resisted the urge to seize upon a jape, instead nuzzling into her hair and murmuring. “You are most definitely the Maiden Fair.”

They rocked gently through their umpteenth jig; endurance gained from training in the yard repurposed for this treasured interval. 

_Which is soon to become memory…_

Jaime noticed the dancers were thinning, their temporary reprieve from the public eye drawing to a close. 

_If we are to slip away undetected, it is now or never._

“Brienne…” He slid his left arm from her waist, lifting her hand from his shoulder and unwinding her elbow from around his neck. “…we need to retire for the evening.”

For an instant, confusion muddied the pools of her eyes. “Isn’t there another ceremony left to come…?” Her tone trembled at the mention of it and he knew he had made the right decision. 

“I have arranged otherwise, but it will be best if we depart quietly, before the deviation from normalcy can cause an uproar.” Twining his fingers through hers, Jaime tugged gently. “Will you come upstairs with me? I believe there is a bridal chamber waiting for us.” 

Jaime saw Brienne gulp, before squaring her shoulders and nodding. “Where you go, I go my husband.” 

He smiled warmly, trying to gift her his surety, resting his right wrist supportively against the small of her broad back. Steering with subtle nudges, Jaime ducked his head and Brienne wordlessly followed suit, weaving their way unnoticed through the dwindling revellers. 


	15. Lust and Chastity (BRIENNE VII)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummmm - I think it goes without saying but...this chapter is NSFW. LOL  
> The final Sin and Virtue of JB Week caps it off with a bang!  
> (Pun fully intended) <3

_Bed-ding, Bed-ding, Bed-ding_

Even the hammering of her heart had come to resemble the word which plagued her brain. Echoing reminders of obedience and custom, her Septa’s matter-of-fact and unappealing description of reproduction. Describing the chore of servicing her husband as the most odious of duties. 

_‘A Lady wife is compliant and amenable; she knows and accepts her role in the bedchamber. Though it is a filthy, painful process - it is a woman’s obligation. Consummation is a necessary step in marriage, pivotal to producing heirs…”_

“After you My Lady…” Jaime gestured at the open door with arm outstretched, the interior of a sizeable bedchamber lit from within and awaiting their arrival. The hallway had come to an end all too soon.

“Thank you.” Brienne’s voice wheezed from her throat in a strangled squeak, betraying her nerves as she crossed the threshold and looked about. 

The sleeping quarters were not her own, her Father advising against spending her first night as a married woman in a place with so many youthful memories. It was her job to start afresh, take the leap from girlhood to womanhood, begin anew as Lady Brienne Lannister. 

The room was spacious and grand, cleverly situated in the East Wing to be far removed from the other revellers. The furnishings were sparse, a guest room requiring little in the way of personal paraphernalia, boasting a dresser, beside tables, folding privacy screen, empty wardrobe….and extremely large bed. It dominated the space directly in front of her, an inescapable glaring reminder of why she was brought here. 

_To lay with my husband…_

When the lock clicked behind her she jumped unwittingly, rotating slowly on the spot, wincing at the thought that Jaime has observed her skittishness. 

_I am more restive than an unbroken filly._

Her husband’s raised eyebrows told her all she needed to know, sucking his lips into his mouth to quash either a witty remark or a chuckle. His gait smooth and assured as he closed the distance between them, taking her into his arms. 

“The night is long my wife.” Jaime’s tenor was deep, luscious, its mellifluous quality seeping into her pores and easing her tension. “We need not haste to the bed.” 

Brienne closed her eyes, allowing his message to permeate her soul, her muscles unclenching within his embrace. Timorous giggles bubbling from her mouth as he deliberately and annoyingly tickled her cheek with his nose. “Stop that…” She whined, forgetting her anxiety and swatting at him with her hand, blue eyes popping open to gaze into his roguish face. 

“Why? I’m just mapping your freckles – and naming them. There is a lot Wench. I want to be formally introduced to them all.”

“Blemishes I have been told.” She let out an entirely different and largely more approving sound when Jaime replaced his nose with his lips. “Another of my flaws.”

“Hey… don’t speak ill of Chestnut and Hickory. They are my new friends.” Jaime pouted and once again Brienne could not decide whether she wanted to shower him in kisses of adoration or light blows of frustration. 

She came to the conclusion that the middle road was rolling her eyes. “Chestnut and Hickory?” 

“Yes.” Another peck, swift and precise like a bird with a branch of millet. “Then Cinnamon.” _Peck._ “Nutmeg and Caramel.” _Peck, peck._ “And don’t forget dear little Tawny over here…” He found a speckle located just above her upper lip, taking his time to kiss it thoroughly, his warm, moist mouth dragging over the tiny patch of skin, tongue darting out and just happening to miss its mark, running over the flesh of her lip instead. 

“ _Jaime…_ ” His name whistled through her teeth as she exhaled at the exquisiteness. 

_Even if he is prone to silliness, he still makes me weak at the knees…_

“I think that one may be my favourite.” 

Brienne glimpsed his self-satisfied smirk, the confidence he exuded sending tingles over her skin, and she licked her lips on instinct, wetting them with only a heartbeat to spare before he devoured them in a passionate kiss. 

How long they stood, locked in a duel of mouths and clutching arms she could not say. Time ceased to exist when Jaime kissed her, a new delight she was coming to anticipate with eagerness, looking forward to each unexpected occasion. His demonstrative outpourings of bottled emotions both surreal and rapturous, the expressions of sentiment behind the contact more meaningful than anything she had thought possible. 

_Lips dancing, tongues twirling – how can it say so much without speaking? A gesture to impart the entire contents of his heart and history, an act which carries greater romance than all the poems and songs of the known world combined._

_Can he feel that I love him?_

_Do I too communicate in this tactile way?_

_Or does he need to hear it from me…_

“Tell me what to do next my Jaime…” Her voice was husky, lips kiss-swollen. “…shall we lie down?” Brienne swallowed even as she summoned all her pluck, the yen within fighting with the reality and the tales she’d been told. 

_I want this so much…but I also don’t know what I want. I have no prior knowledge other than my basic lessons in conception, and I have been told I am to expect an unpleasant experience…_

_But why would my body be craving something unpleasant?_

Her confusion must have been evident, for Jaime loosened his arms around her, bringing his hand up to cup her face. 

“Not yet – first I must ask a favour. All your trappings and fastenings would make it impossible for me to disrobe you. Please My Lady – save me the humiliation. I requested nightclothes be put in the dresser in case you wished to preserve your modesty – would you change into a shift? I shall make myself more comfortable as well.” 

“Of course.” With delicate movements she took his hand from her cheek, kissing his knuckles one by one. Reading between the lines of his request and hearing his own insecurities, realising that he was giving them both a few moments of solitude to collect their thoughts. 

Retrieving a cotton nightshift from the dresser, she slipped behind the screen partition. Steadying both her breathing and racing heart with large lungfuls of oxygen, blowing the air out again slowly through parted lips as she began to work on undressing. 

Her ties and laces were tedious, permitting her brain a chance for introspection. The removal of her dress calling to mind how a bride’s wedding gown and undergarments were customarily shed, making Brienne incredibly grateful that Jaime had interceded and abolished the bedding ceremony. 

_He is a considerate man. It would have been a long and traumatic trip up to these chambers, grabbing male hands tearing away my clothes, exposing me to their cruel eyes, leering at my naked body – I can think of nothing worse._

Her husband’s foresight provided another dose of reassurance, his attentive thoughtfulness displaying all a maiden could wish for in a mate. Intuitive and benign, her rock and her guide through these unchartered waters. 

_Over the course of only two days, Jaime has protected me whenever he could, showing no bias against a woman of my appearance and brawn._

Where other men were repulsed by her imperfections or intimidated by her unyielding character - Jaime seemed to flourish. His growing attachment to her coinciding with every revelation about her unorthodox character, his affections increasing with the discovery of another facet in what was by most people’s standards – a rough gem. 

_And so, I bestow upon him my faith._

It was naturally difficult to lower her shields, to relax as a doe in a lion’s den. Unlearning all the defence mechanisms which had kept her safe for years. 

But with Jaime she had to create an exception in order for them to proceed, overcoming this final obstacle together, as a couple. 

_As it should be._ _I am not in this alone – a frightened maiden with a brutish stranger. I am with Jaime, a half of a unity, and this is the step toward completion._

Her reward for bravery would be their combined future, an eventuation she yearned for with an aching desperation. With the dawn it would be stretching out before them, bright and glowing with promise. 

_First, I just have to let my heart lead over my head. Hand Jaime both the reins and my implicit trust. Tonight, we see each other’s vulnerability, our physical and emotional selves laid bare. And we will respond with raw honesty, rally with our mutual regard and ultimately emerge victorious and…_

_In love._

She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, grinning wildly and feeling the tingle of her pinking cheeks. 

_I know it has only been two days. I know we have not yet proclaimed our love aloud._

_But there was a declaration in that kiss…unmissable and unmistakable. And I want our tomorrow, so it begins tonight._

Stepping out from behind the screen, she was acutely aware of the sconcelight - the transparency of the thin material, the short length of the hem upon her thigh, her blush which grew by the second as she flicked her gaze between Jaime’s awe-inspired stare and her bare feet upon the carpet. 

But then she peeked at the rest of him through her lashes and all thoughts of her own state of undress scattered to the four winds. Feasting on the vision of his tousled golden mane, loose fitting breeches hanging indecently upon his hips and a muscular bare chest chased by the occasional scar. An oil painting, a statue of manliness – _half a god._

Her legs began to move, he the magnet calling her in. Dry of mouth and thirsty one minute, then salivating at the thought of running her tongue down the ridges of his abdomen. 

_What are these notions? What is becoming of me?_

Breezy bursts drifted upward with her sudden motion, tendrils sneaking beneath her shift and finding the blonde curls which covered her nethers. The cool bite of the air hitting disconcerting dampness, sending a shiver throughout her body and making her nipples protrude through her shift. Brienne caught sight of them just as she reached Jaime, throwing herself into his arms to cover the pert buds, pressing herself against the masterpiece that was his chest. 

“Well hello…” 

Brienne could hear the amusement in his greeting, knew instantaneously that he’d seen.

_However, I’m not sure that I care…_

“Hello husband.” She mumbled shyly, burying her face into the crook of his neck and breathing in his intoxicating aroma. Quivering in anticipation when his stump trailed from the back of her neck to the bottom of her shift. “I did as you requested.”

“I saw…” His jagged scar tickled the untouched flesh of her upper thighs and she felt further wetness pool below. “…I feel.” 

Kissing her behind the ear, Jaime explored no further. Stepping back from their embrace but making sure he never let go, his skin remaining in constant contact, their conjoining already begun. 

His hand ran down her arm, catching her fingers in his own, his other arm imitating the movement but coming to rest in the palm of her upturned hand. “Come.” 

_Gladly._

Brienne followed him to the bed, finding the covers already turned down. Smiling at his forethought and realising just how long it took her to unthread all her bindings. He returned her smile, turning them around slowly, leaning in to grant her another incendiary kiss. 

_Jaime could kiss me once every minute and I would still want more…he has made me insatiable…_

She brushed her fingertips through his beard, savouring the scratch of the bristles, the irritation as they chaffed the sensitive skin around her mouth contrasting with the softness of his supple lips. Walking the fine line between pleasure and pain like she did in the practise yard, appealing to both the maiden and the warrior within her. 

There was no hesitation when he edged her backwards, his hand manipulating her liquified limbs with care until she lay supine upon the mattress, staring into his verdant eyes with sincerity and openness. 

“Please go slowly with me Jaime I want to be a wife to you… but I’m nervous.”

“That’s alright Brienne,” he toyed with the buttons on her shirt, hooking a finger down the open neckline, discovering she hadn’t fastened them all the way to the top. 

_To make it simpler for you my lion…it can just be slipped over my head when the time comes._

“If we are being candid…I have not had a woman for a long time. I have never been interested in casual affairs – I ached for depth of connection. I yearned for exactly what we have, right here, right now…” 

She stretched up to smother his mouth in a kiss of appreciation and agreement with his sentiment, taking the initiative and feeling a burst of pride inside. 

_We are steadfast, he and I. We wait for what is true…and on that subject…_

“But Jaime…surely you know I do not speak of a length of time.” Carding her digits through the locks of his fringe helped her to find the words, raking back errant tresses which blocked her view of his emeralds. The reflection of devotion within them removing her fear. “I’ve never…I haven’t… I am virginal.”

“I did marry the ‘Maid of Tarth,’ but I take nothing for granted. It is known a lot of noble women stretch the truth for the sake of marriage prospects.”

“That is not the case with me.” She shook her head vehemently. “No one’s ever touched me. Only you in the last two days. I may be an older maiden - many highborn girls are wed not long after their first flowering - but my chastity was easy to protect and maintain.” Brienne sighed, her chest rising and falling beneath his. “I am not the kind of woman a man craves or lusts after…” 

“They are fools.” The speed of his response quickened her already racing heart. “Blind, narrow-minded, lackwits.” 

Brienne grinned demurely, for once accepting his implied compliment. “Well I was about to add – that it was of little concern to me – because I didn’t want them either.” 

“Do you want me?” 

_Yes. Oh Gods, yes._

Yet Septa Roelle’s monotonous sermons about the importance of a Lady’s conduct made her quash that confession, choosing instead to divulge the very teachings which were holding her back. 

“My Septa told me it is improper for a woman to be libidinous. To want _it._ She said such carnal impulses breed wantonness, and that a Lady of good breeding does not hold nor show overt interest.” 

“Hmmm…” Jaime raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Did she now?” 

As if testing the theory, he began to kiss her neck. Alternating between nipping and sucking as he made his way down, down, painstakingly slowly to her collarbone. His lips seared into her skin, fibres exploding beneath their heat until she was certain scorch marks would be visible in the morning, each press somehow resonating in the base of her belly, the occasional grazes of teeth encouraging the throbbing which had commenced between her legs. 

Slamming her thighs together tightly, she rubbed them against each other, attempting to quell the need and finding it only intensified. 

Attune to even her smallest movement, her husband beamed triumphantly. “I would say your Septa doesn’t know much of it.”

_He likes this game…and if it results in more kisses like that, so do I._

“Lechery is for whores. Good, moral Ladies don’t…” A gasp ripped from her as he ran his fingertips over one of her peaked nipples, massaging it gently through the fabric of her nightshift. 

_Even if this is lustful, even if I have been told this is wrong…it’s so, so right._

“Jaime…Jaime…” Brienne wasn’t even sure what she was begging for now. For him to stop. For him to start. For him to cure this agonising need inside her centre. “…beddings are not described as amorous; they are a duty women must suffer through…” 

Her recitation ended in a high-pitched note, his hand wandering lower to her sacred parts, uncovering the futility of her arguments as he parted her folds and found her sopping wet. His guttural growl and subsequent chuckle only increasing her want, his skilful digits beginning to rub circles around her sensitive nub. “Really? That must explain why you’re drenching my fingers.”

“It doesn’t explain any of it.” She gasped, arching into his hand. “Why do you think I’m so confused?” 

“Then trust me.” Jaime nibbled her earlobe whilst he spoke, his deeper octave almost primal, the weight of his masculine frame pushing her into the mattress a divine blanket which she wanted to cloak herself in for the rest of the night. “I know what we _both_ need.” 

When his finger slipped inside her, Brienne’s groan of pleasure was echoed by Jaime, her enjoyment too great to concern herself any longer with the erroneous lessons from her Septa.

_Lust it is - enthralling, delectable desire._

_My husband, my lover… if he be my sin then I own it. Accept it, welcome it. Willingly. With him inside me he is mine._

Jaime’s kisses were growing wild, his mouth smouldering against hers, digit thrusting skilfully, tongue plundering with a mounting urgency that she knew instinctually was symbolic of his avidity. His hardness insistent against her thigh, his hips beginning to buck.

_But to his credit, he waits for me. My chivalrous knight…_

“What are you thinking?” Brienne dragged her lips across his jaw, mouthing her way up to his ear. 

“Just how I want you wrapped around me.” Jaime’s abraded voice vibrated against her cheek. “ _All_ of you. Legs, thighs, arms…” He ran his stump over the places he named, reverently tracing every curve, familiarising himself with her shape, leaving the remaining item on the list unsaid like a true gentleman. Brienne could easily fill in the missing word. “…hidden freckles…” 

Her happiness brought tears to her eyes, misting her vision of his handsome profile. 

_Even in an impassioned state, he still takes pause to worship my irregularities. My limbs which are too lengthy, too muscular for that of a Lady. My speckled, blush-blotched skin. Jaime is everything I have ever wanted and more…_

Swallowing she confided. “I never thought my husband would want me this way…desire me.” 

“Well I do.” A lingering kiss, tender and heartfelt. “Breathlessly.” 

“And I want you – _everything_ you have to give.” Brienne confessed, conviction leaving her maidenly nervousness in yesterday. “I will embrace you with every inch of me.” 

Jaime’s grin was brighter than moonlight, his emeralds shimmering – liquid and fire within verdant forests, the elements mingling within his face as an expression of unbridled jubilance and adoration. 

“So, what is your answer my wife, my wench, my Brienne…” His numerous titles for her rolled off his tongue in a purr as he kissed her from forehead to lip. “…Shall we consecrate this marriage? Finalising this providential arrangement - that neither of us was particularly thrilled about in the beginning-” Both their bodies jounced with poorly contained mirth, the irony of their good fortune to have fallen so heavily for one another not lost upon them. “-through consummation? I want you to be sure…” 

Smiling, Brienne gripped the hem of her shift, wriggling beneath him to pull it up and over her head. Tossing it aside and onto the floor with a defiant tilt of her chin. 

_Is that sure enough for you my lion?_

“Noted…” She felt Jaime’s fingers withdraw from her wet heat as he began to shimmy from his breeches and she draped her arms around his shoulders, feverishly raking her fingers down his back. Patience warring with keenness as her physique rippled in anticipation. “…but I need to hear you say it Brienne. From this point forward we will be forever as one…” 

She parted her knees to make room for him, rubbing the insides of her thighs against his corded legs.

“Our names will be writ forever on history’s page, side by side, together.” As Jaime spoke, he positioned himself at her opening, the tip of his manhood making a polite introduction to her sodden centre, his hips held infuriatingly still. Determined on receiving her final nod of permission, his voice strangled when he begged. “Please say yes.”

“Yes.” 

When he eased himself in, it was a welcome intrusion, tender and careful, telling her the sweetest of sentiments, her ears filled with his appreciation and regard. The kind of phrases she had only ever glimpsed in romance novels, a maiden’s rose-hued dreams come reality. 

Once he was fully sheathed within her he stopped, balancing on his right forearm to caress her face with her fingers, searching for hidden distress. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes.” Brienne breathed the reassurance again. “This is wonderful.” 

It had stung, but the discomfort faded in comparison to the delicious fullness and friction pulsating from her middle. “I had been educated about conjugal duties – but never about making love.” She placed a kiss upon his lips to let him know she spoke honestly, assuaging his worries. “Please continue, make me yours.” 

Returning the kiss, he began rocking smoothly, slowly. Allowing her time to adjust to the rhythm, the feel of him moving inside her. 

_He is such a considerate lover._

Brienne moaned, a long drawn out sound escaping her mouth she had never heard the likes of before. 

_He sets me ablaze…_

It was true. Unbelievably, astonishingly, spectacularly true. 

Every skilful touch of his hand generated sparks. Every brush of his lips stoked her embers. And every stroke of his length deep in her core turned the fledgling flame into an inferno. In his arms she felt safe, free to reveal the womanly self she sheltered within. Safe to whine, mewl and whimper.

_If this is what lust feels like…chastity be damned._


	16. Lust and Chastity (JAIME VII)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....it wouldn't be a 'Midnight Sun' format without a little NSFW from Jaime's POV ;)

“I will embrace you with every inch of me.” 

_You already are._

Jaime could feel the grin stretching his beard, the love he held for the endearing maiden beneath him threatening to bubble up and spill over. Her hands were pressed to his chest, thumbs smoothing circles against his skin dotted with gooseflesh. Her callouses generating friction against the small bumps, sending waves of desire coursing through him which could be felt to the tip of his erection. The gentleness of Brienne’s innocent touches increasing both his love and desire for her exponentially with each passing second. 

_She is superb. She is kindness. She is divinity personified…_

Her tight, slick passage hugged his finger so tightly he couldn’t help but think how good it would feel around his cock. The distraction of the thought hazing his vision, sending his blood rushing southward like a torrent. 

_No…I must keep a level head. I must ask for her consent._

_This is a big step, one which cannot be reversed. And for her to regret me would be the greatest tragedy of my life. Outweighing every hardship that has come before._

“So, what is your answer my wife, my wench, my Brienne…” 

_Oh, I love how that sounds, I shall never grow tired of saying it._

He pressed his lips to her blonde hairline, working his way downward to her nose and waiting mouth. “…Shall we consecrate this marriage? Finalising this providential arrangement - that neither of us was particularly thrilled about in the beginning-”

_Beautiful fate. You knew better. I bow to your wisdom and your grand design. Even if how it all came about is terribly amusing._

“-through consummation? I want you to be sure…” 

_Fuck… is she doing what I think she’s doing?_

The cotton nightshirt which separated them was prised away by her own initiative. His skin coming to rest against her tender flesh as her pure body writhed beneath him, freeing herself of its restraints and nearly making him pass out from lust. The obstinate angle of her chin and flash of determination in her blue eyes almost his undoing before they’d officially begun. 

_I have never been this hard._

“Noted…” He barely choked out his acknowledgment, diverting his attention to removing his own nightbreeches in an attempt to hold on. Already missing the warmth of her clenched around his finger, telling himself even better sensations were just upon the horizon. 

Even regulating his breathing was a trial as she hugged him close, her digits clawing at his back as if she wanted him now…right now…this very moment. Her squirming, impatient body hammering his observations home. 

_She is killing me._

“…but I need to hear you say it Brienne. From this point forward we will be forever as one…” 

_Gods, she opened the gates…_

He squeezed his eyes shut tight to savour the sensation of lowering between her spread legs, of her soft, sinewy thighs urging him on like she would her horse. Lids retreating again to drown in her sultry blue lagoons, every emotion in them calling for Jaime to dive in, take the plunge, immerse in her. 

“Our names will be writ forever on history’s page, side by side, together.” 

Every ounce of his self-control was trained upon his hips, aligning the head of his cock with her entrance, trying not to think about the slickness of her folds, the snug fit awaiting him in her interior, just a push away…

“Please say yes.” He was not beyond pleading, for mercy, for permission, for admittance. 

_I want her, but only if she wants me…fuck I hope she wants me. I need her like I’ve never needed anything._

“Yes.” 

Relief coursed through him, Brienne’s contralto music to his ears. Her approval alone enough to allow him to relax and regroup, employing patience. 

_I will have my release, but my Lady love comes first. And she is a maiden, my bride on our wedding night. I will not rush because I cannot contain my impulses._

“You’re my woman Brienne.” He moved with care, relishing the squeeze of her walls, the newness of this experience. Claiming the person who would walk beside him through all the days of his life and whatever came after. 

“And I could not be more honoured by the gift you’re giving me, the faith you have placed in my undeserving heart. I will do everything within my power so that your days are never again cloudy, to bring only laughter and merriment. To make you as happy as you have made me in this moment.” Jaime kissed her sweetly, the languorous movements of his tongue matching the pace of his penetration and hopefully soothing any pain. “I may have your trust in this moment – but you My Lady have my heart.” 

She murmured against his cheek and he tried to interpret the sound, despising himself for the discomfort their coupling would cause her. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes. This is wonderful.” He grinned into her neck, nuzzling and pecking at her dappled skin. The perspiration which dotted the ivory column salty upon his tongue, her larynx humming as she spoke. “I had been educated about conjugal duties – but never about making love.” Drawing his face back up to hers, she placed her large hands to either side of his cheeks, blessing him with a reassuring kiss. 

_Brienne thinks of me – at a time when I should be comforting her. She is remarkable._

“Please continue,” Her timbre was rasping and needy. “Make me yours.” 

_With pleasure._

Smothering her mouth with his own, he recommenced moving within her. Pacing himself so she could acclimatise whilst basking in the glory of her grasping passageway, embracing him firmly with every thrust. His fingers splayed on her side, keeping his touch gentle whilst coaxing her hips to roll with his, encouraging her sensual instincts as she began to meet and match his movements. A moan of ecstasy ripping from her throat and prompting him to answer in kind. 

_Fuck…yes…_

Brienne caught on quickly, synchronising to his tempo, her body tuned to his on levels, physical, emotional and spiritual. Their connection absolute, overwhelming, intoxicating enough to set him drunk. 

Jaime could feel himself spiralling, out of this world and into another, where blinding rapture dwelled and made his head spin, where love amplified the senses and eternally bonded the two souls that were an extension of one another.

_My Brienne. Mine. Mine. I’m hers. Always. Forever._

His lips traversed her shoulders, her collarbone, her ear. His fingers roamed north to her nipples, then south to her nub. Her cries filling him with pride and increasing his appetite, the pleasure of her perfect cunt making him roar. 

When she came loudly beneath him, he could not suppress the satisfied smile which overtook his face, the notion that he had just brought his wife to her first orgasm his ultimate undoing. Surrendering to the tide of sensations and sound, finally letting himself be swept away. 

Jaime followed her into sublime insensibility scarcely a few heartbeats later, collapsing atop her from the intensity of his climax. His seed filling his new wife and beginning the chain reaction which would shape their future together. The possibility of generations to come triggered when he spilt in her womb.

He panted, laying his cheek against her heaving chest, collecting his coherence back from the alcoves of his brain numbed by gratification. 

“That…was pure unadulterated pleasure.” Jaime pressed a kiss to her heated flesh, feeling her tremble beneath his lips. “You’re quivering…”

Lifting his face, he took in the wideness of her blue eyes, her lips parted in awe snatching gulps of air. “You just…” 

He kissed her, letting her know it was all normal. That her journey descending from the heights of lust was the first of many. Grinning when she muttered in disbelief. “I just…” 

_After all she had been told, she had steeled herself for unpleasantness. She had not been prepared for bliss._

Jaime could not resist kissing her again, pulling back to watch as her tongue darted out, licking her lips and tasting where his mouth had just been. Swallowing down her breathlessness and his flavour. 

“Oh Jaime…” Then Brienne smiled, the most innocent yet indecent and adorable gesture he had ever seen. Teeth sinking into her lip, a profuse blush staining her already reddened cheeks an even darker shade of scarlet. “…I never knew it could be like this.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up - Epilogues :)


	17. Seven Heavens (BRIENNE EPILOGUE)

The weight of the covers descended over her leg and rump, the mattress beneath her sagging with the motion of her bed partner. 

_My husband._ Her heart fluttered as the permanence seeped into her pores. _I need never fear walking alone, nor feel the bite of being the oddity watching life pass me by. The man I love will forever be at my side, in my chambers, in my sphere. My constant companion and support. We are bound._

It took her by surprise when her eyes put up a protest against opening, the heaviness in her lids a new and unwelcome hindrance – though even through half-mast vision she could hardly miss the sight of Jaime’s smile. Its broadness displayed two rows of perfect, white teeth, zeal emanating from his demeanour, his joy palpable and energy contagious. Invigorating her and chasing away the last vestiges of slumber. 

_He is up… Which is more than I can say for me._

The room was already well-illuminated, indicating that she had overslept and missed her usual waking hour of first-light. 

_I suppose I had justifiable cause to lie-in, however - only this once. I will not let it become a habit. For either of us._

Stretching to wake up her muscles, Brienne couldn’t help but grin at Jaime’s surprising reliability. 

_And here I was thinking I would have to drag him from the covers every daybreak…_

“You are awake…” She greeted him warmly, offering praise whilst explicit flashes of their nocturnal activities replayed in the recesses of her mind. Their vivid detail causing a resurgence in her diffidence which she sought to vanquish. 

_Keep talking, he will not know where your memory dwells._

“…A promising start for our routine husband. I hope I can expect your waking to always be this punctual.” 

Brienne fought off the blush bravely, praying she was winning as her body tingled with recollections of pleasure. 

_We did…that. More than once…_

Fortunately, Jaime was quick to offer her a diversion from her impure thoughts. The wicked smirk and gleam in his eyes preparing her for whatever silliness was about to spill from his mouth. “An exception rather than a rule…”

_Not if I have anything to say about it._ She furrowed her brow, unimpressed by his response. 

“Then why are you up so early? I thought you embraced your indolence.” 

“I did. When sleeping had more allure than waking. When my illusionary realms were preferable to the bleak reality of my daily grind - if not dotted by the occasional ghost of my past but with everything a price. For the better part dozing held far more appeal that facing the world.” 

“I don’t understand…” 

_He speaks in riddles and wit; it both captivates and confounds…_

_Wait…does he mean me?_

_Am I the thing that changed his pattern? This is the second morning in a row he has deviated from his laziness. Mayhaps his system rouses him early to keep my company._

The idea sent a spark of excitement shooting out of her chest, and it must have shown on her features because he brought his hand to her face, thumb affectionately outlining her jaw. 

“When I woke up this morning – I thought I was still asleep.” Jaime’s voice was velvet and molasses, seamlessly switching from play to seduction. “I wanted love for so long, I could scarce believe it had become reality. Surely having you in my bed was a figment of my most precious dreams, a beautiful fantasy which I would yearn to return to upon awakening.” He brandished his right arm and she regarded it with confusion, not comprehending the relevance. “I even checked my wrist to make sure I was truly conscious.” 

“Why?” 

“In my dreams I still have my right hand. I use it to verify.” 

_Oh…_ The thought of his repetitive disappointment and his ache to be whole made her heart bleed. 

“I am so sorry my Jaime-” Reaching out she cradled his stump in her hands, bringing the scar to her lips and kissing it tenderly. “-each discovery must hurt anew.” 

“Not anymore.” He leaned in, pressing his nose against her own. “This morning I was delighted to find it gone – it meant you were real. I know which I’d rather have Brienne – and I’d choose you every time.” 

“Now I worry that I am the one who is still asleep.” Letting go of his stump and pushing herself upright to meet him, she overcame her bashfulness when the sheet fell away. Kneeling before her Jaime – naked, courageous and sure. “But I will use my own method of checking.”

Fisting her hand in his hair, she pulled him into a kiss which was far from chaste. Leagues apart from the tentative maidenly brushes of lip she had already mastered. A new challenge, a further refinement of skill. This incarnation steeped in passion, deliberately inciting arousal in her mate. 

_You are mine Jaime – and I want you with every fibre in my being…_

When she released him, his pupils were blown. The golden flecks hidden within the green of his iris’ wild with desire. His mouth quirking upwards at the corner, revelling in her newfound confidence. “Satisfied?” 

“Not entirely.” Brienne quipped. “I will check again.” 

This time it was a battle of rapacious hunger. Beard chaffing and teeth scraping in their need to devour and consume. Tongues employed this morning in lieu of their swords. Three hands and one wrist scrabbling, grabbing at each other, crushing their lover close and refusing to let go. 

She won the bout, eventually wresting herself away. Dishevelled and driven by the force she now identified as lust, craving her husband with an immeasurable desperation but stubborn enough to not wish to concede her higher ground of self-restraint.

_I want him to want me, as much as I want him._

Mercifully she didn’t have to yield, Jaime growling and announcing, “Well now I’m the one who’s far from satisfied.” Pouncing with the agility of the lion on his sigil, he flipped Brienne onto her back, his body covering her from end to end, his lips pelting her chest with kisses. 

Brienne grinned, hooking her knees around his waist and settling him against her core, delighted to already feel his burgeoning hardness imploring for entry and prodding against her tender petals. A touch sore, but well-loved and favourable to another round. 

_Virtue never felt this good._

“Eager Wench…” He mumbled to himself as he found her breasts, his licks on each teat making her writhe, hips arching upwards of their own accord. “…slick and ready for me in the morning - I could get used to this.” 

“No…” Even breathless with desire, she was still determined to correct him. “…you promised me we would train every sunrise – remember? Today I have granted us an exemption. A _one-time only_ occurrence.” 

Jaime ceased suckling on her nipple and she emitted a little whine, looking down to see him leaning his chin upon her breastbone and exaggeratedly pouting. “Surely we can arrange our timetable to suit both our needs? Either activity is tantamount to a workout after all…”

_He doesn’t play fair – negotiating with me when I can hardly think straight._

“…We can roll in the covers at sun up, and then wander down to the yard.” 

“Uh uh.” Brienne shook her head in disagreement, sinking back into the pillow. Searching her sex-befuddled brain for a clever compromise. “We will wake, dress and go to the yard-” Glancing down she saw Jaime open his mouth to protest but she grabbed his chin and silenced him with a kiss before he had the chance. “- _then_ we will return up here, peel off each other’s layers, bathe one another’s naked, perspiring bodies with damp wash cloths and _then_ fall into bed whilst our blood is still pumping…” The light in his eyes told her he liked this solution and she added. “…We can work up a sweat for a second time.” 

“After that – a nap and breakfast.” 

Jaime’s contribution pleased her greatly and she nodded her assent. Sealing their arrangement by pressing her lips to his. “My way gives you incentive to keep up your regimen. And your addition allows us to thoroughly bask in our alone time before beginning our duties for the day. I would say it is a well-balanced schedule.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” He crawled northward until she was gazing up into his ridiculously handsome features, his effervescence bringing a grin to her own face. “You know Brienne, this married life thing isn’t half as difficult to sort out as people claim. If I knew matrimony resulted in days filled with sex and swordfights, I may have tied the knot years ago.” 

“Fair point.” Always a quick study, she mimicked his musing, playful tone. Keen to remind him that his realisation cut both ways, ringing true for both of them. “To think I went to such great lengths to avoid it.” 

It was incredible how swiftly his persona morphed, from cocky and baiting her one minute, to a petulant house cat the next. Insecure and mewling for her reassurance, her affection. “But if you’d caved… you wouldn’t have me.” 

“Yes.” Her smile turned smug. “Nor you I.”

Jaime was all eyes, wide and needy, almost timid as he asked. “Worth the wait?”

“Completely.” Unable to bear toying with the man she loved any longer, Brienne enveloped him in her arms, locking her ankles behind his buttocks to hold him close, encouraging him to make love to her. “This is heaven to me.”


	18. Seven Heavens (JAIME EPILOGUE)

Cold sheets were warm, the emptiness in his bed occupied by a large body.Jaime’s eyes may be shut, but he could still see the light of morning penetrating his lids, hear the continuous cycle of another person’s breathing.

His companion was female, naked by the dip of her waist beneath his arm, the press of bosoms against his chest.Her backside delightfully shapely when he cupped it with his left hand.

_ Am I still sleeping? _

He was groggy and disoriented, the loveliness of this waking only leading him to conclude he dreamt still, nuzzling in closer to the goddess who cuddled him, content to stay in this alternate reality.

_ Brienne… _ Jaime smiled as he hunkered down. _ My goddess’s name is Brienne. _

__

And she felt so lifelike in his arms, her fragrance earthy with faint hints of sex.Scent the sense most closely linked to memory, awakening a fuzzy, dormant region of his consciousness and reminding him of his wedding night.

_ Not a dream. _

His eyes popped open, blinking against the rays of sun streaming in through the curtains, its golden glow doing little to disprove the notion that he was still asleep and surrounded by an idealistic fantasy.

_ For what else could this paradise be? _

__

The blue sky beyond the window matched the ocean.The duvet and pillows of the large bed resembling clouds.The maiden in his embrace the perfect mix of femininity and ferocity.

_ Though maybe not so maiden… _

Sitting up slowly, he quietly chuckled, covering Brienne’s exposed skin and the stained sheet beneath her with the downy quilt.Pausing to study his right arm and for once pleased to find it ending in an abrupt stump.

_ I am not whole – therefore I’m definitely not dreaming.This is real... _

Brienne stirred, woken by his movements.Her serene blue eyes half-lidded, unused to such late nights. _Or such rigorous ones..._

He beamed, waiting anxiously for her to rouse fully, his enthusiasm rivalling a child upon their name day who had been waiting for their new pony.Fortunately, his Lady wife was far quicker than he to transition into wakefulness, stretching her impossibly long arms above her head and studying his face.Her proud smile making him wonder what was going on in that scrupulous mind of hers.

“You are awake.”She mumbled shyly, “A promising start for our routine husband.I hope I can expect your waking to always be this punctual.”

“An exception rather than a rule…”He clucked his tongue, sing-songing waggishly, delighting in how her eyebrows knit together.

_ My wench is so serious for one so young - and I do believe my vow against teasing her ended with the dawn… _

__

[][][][][][][][]

“Jaime...”Brienne’s arms locked in place around his back, squeezing their chests close with her strength and affection.Sated and comfortable in the wake of their lovemaking.“Stay here, don’t get up yet…”Resting her cheek against his heartbeat she sighed.“…Hold me.”

“For the rest of my life.”Jaime promised, and he had never taken an oath more seriously.“I love you, Brienne.”

No sooner had the declaration left his mouth than his wife had pushed herself up, the honed reflexes of a warrior woman at work in a flurry of fluid movement as she braced her hand against his ribcage, unwilling to break her connection with his pounding heart.Bringing her face mere inches from his, so close he could feel the wash from her shallow breaths.

Brienne’s expression was wholly unassuming, teeming with such hope it choked him up, adoration for his guileless woman overpowering his system and filling him to the brim.Her parted lips moved soundlessly, searching for a way to clarify his sentiment, ensuring she had not mistaken the confession which poured from his tongue.Innocence and cautious optimism flickering in her intelligible oceans.

“Yes, my Wench…you heard right.I solemnly vow to embrace you forever, to adore you for always and worship you until the entirety of creation ceases to exist…”Jaime smiled, tucking a strand of coarse blonde hair behind her ear.Finding a freckle near her temple which he decided to dub ‘oathkeeper.’

_ For I intend keeping this vow until the end of days. _

“…I love you; I am smitten.There isn’t another thing in the world I would ask for, but to have you by my side…and maybe our child one day.Gods willing.”

“Jaime…”Brienne gulped down a sob, her sapphire eyes flooding with tears of disbelief.“…three days ago I thought I understood my life’s plan, resigned to my fate and limitations.An existence of duty and resilience, but bereft of love and romance.Then you came - Jaime Lannister - and turned my world upside down, rewriting everything I thought I knew.Now I’m here, in your bed - your wife.And you are telling me you love me… _ Me…  _ and it means so much because I’ve long since fallen madly and irreversibly in love with you...but all I can think is - how can this be, how is this even possible?’” 

_ My wife is the sweetest creature I have ever encountered. _

He understood her bewilderment, her fear that it was too good and beautiful to be true.It was exactly how he had felt upon waking with her pressed against him.

“I cannot explain how two souls recognise each other’s flame.Nor how the deepest and sincerest of affection can grow from the most unlikely coupling, under the most adverse conditions.All I know, is that love is meant to be transformative.Shaking and mending all the broken shards and fractured wounds which came before…”

Jaime cupped her cheek with his hand, tracing his thumb along her quivering bottom lip.The emotions flowing forth from his heart to his mouth.“ Who would have thought a sinner like me could find acceptance?A warm bed, filled with a virtuous woman, with an even warmer heart.Miracles must exist, and perhaps all good deeds do go rewarded in the end…”

His lips tugged upwards, finding his own moral in the story.The answer to all his resentful mutterings as he sailed unknowingly towards the best thing that would ever happen to him.

_ I thought I was in Hell then.But I was ascending to the opposite… _

“… For I know the promised land can have nothing on this Wench.What we have found - here, between us - will trump that realm every time, in every way.You were right with what you said earlier – this is heaven. _We_ are each other’s Seven Heavens Brienne, found early…here on earth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Just wanted to say thank you for joining me on this JB Week adventure. It was a fun challenge, from the prompts through to trying out the different "Midnight Sun' inspired format and I really appreciate everyone who came along for the ride and read this tale.  
> Your kudos make my day and your comments keep me going. I love this fandom so much and was delighted to contribute to my second Jaime and Brienne appreciation week and join in the festivities surrounding our favourite OTP. 
> 
> As always, I have more stories in the wings - I am a woman obsessed!  
> So please subscribe and check back often. I have an ongoing challenge with myself (for a year and a half now, but who's counting, lol), that there has never been a month when I didn't post on Ao3, and I'm not keen to break my track record. :) 
> 
> Once more, I wish you all a very happy Jaime and Brienne Week 2020! 
> 
> Hugs! <3 Madelyn


	19. Sequel Notification:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This is just a quick notice that I have posted the first instalment in a two-part sequel to this fic.  
> ['Back on Earth'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26874877/chapters/65573008) picks up where this story leaves off and joins Jaime and Brienne during their first day as husband and wife.

Sorry I couldn't tell you all sooner, but it was a secret surprise! <3 


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